


Secrets Internalized

by GinnyJones



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Addiction, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Dark, Death Eaters, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loss of Parent(s), Minor Canonical Character(s), Muggle/Wizard Relations, Plot Twists, Sexual Abuse, Stalking, Suspense, Thriller, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-02 21:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 22,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10228352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinnyJones/pseuds/GinnyJones
Summary: Short story about a half-blood OC with a tragic past. Astrid begins an internship at the Daily Prophet and suffers abuse at the hands of her supervisor, Rita. When she discovers that an old school friend is hanging with a shady crowd, she decides to follow the lead, stumbling on a terrorist plot and getting in over her head in her determination to rise above her manipulative boss.  Set in the months preceding Voldemort's first attack on Harry Potter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to create something based on my work, please do so! Just be sure to link back and credit me and let me know what you've made--if I like it I'll share it here! :)

  

_1 August, 1965._

          Beneath a thin crescent moon on the coast of Fylde, all was still but for the gentle waves lapping against the shore and a breeze that whispered of rain.  Great clouds loomed over the sea, shrouding even the stubbornest of stars.  It might have been impossible to see clearly on such a night on another beach, but this beach happened to be home to a very popular amusement park.  Dazzling lights from the roller coasters and Ferris wheel blazed and stretched their way down the coastline for nearly two miles.  It was precisely here, where the lights from the park met the edge of darkness, that a short, porcine man by the name of Mr. Niles Smudgeworth stood waiting.

          It was cool for an August night, and Mr. Smudgeworth hugged himself.  Someone’s tattered, castoff old scarf lay in the sand beside him, but he was not tempted.  He was unconcerned, as well, with the chance of rain.  In fact, he felt very calm as he listened to the waves.

 _Schlap.  Schlap,_ they said.

 _Ahh,_ Smudgeworth thought, _such a delightful sound._ He smiled to himself.

_Schlap.  Schlap._

          Mr. Smudgeworth had been sent to deliver a confidential message to some very dear friends of his.  He had been waiting now for a few hours.  Not one person had passed by in all this time.

 _Yes,_ he thought, _they really chose the perfect spot._

_Schlap.  Schlap._

          In time, two tiny silhouettes appeared in the distance from the direction of the park.  Mr. Smudgeworth watched their approach.  The two newcomers stopped and embraced.  He smiled again.  His friends’ happiness really was his own.  It brought such peace and joy to see couples in love.

          Before long, he could hear the sounds of conversation and laughter.  As they neared, he could make out the words.

          “I couldn’t take my eyes off the drummer _all night_ ,” came the voice of the female.  “It’s incredible what someone can do with just a couple of sticks!”

          “You know, I think he’s one of your kind,” a man replied.

          “One of ours?  What makes you say that?”

          “I think it’s obvious, really.  He’s great with sticks, for one.  Not to mention, no Muggles in their right minds would name their child ‘Ringo’.”

          “What?  I think it’s a perfectly ordinary name!”

          “You’ve hit the nail on the head, my dear.”

          None of this made any sense to Mr. Smudgeworth.  He had certainly never heard of anyone called Ringo.  As he watched, the couple began to embrace again and fell to the ground this time, still laughing.  He chose this moment to announce himself.

          “Ahem,” he said, stepping into the last fingers of light.

          “Oh!” and “Good heavens!” came the cries of alarm from his friends.

          “Terribly sorry for interrupting,” Mr. Smudgeworth said in a high, squeaky voice.

          “Oh!  Niles, it’s you!  How did you know we would be all the way out here at this hour?” said the female.

          He noticed the 13-inch piece of blond wood in her hand.  He raised his own hand, almost instinctively, in which he, too, held a long stick of wood.  “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” he heard himself cry.  The piece of wood flew up out of her hand and landed in the sand several yards behind them.  They both stared at him, bewildered.  Then, after a mere second, he saw realization dawn on both of their faces.

          “Darling, get to the Portkey!” shouted the man, running and stumbling in his dash for the piece of blond wood.

          The woman saw the scarf at Mr. Smudgeworth’s feet.  His eyes locked on hers.  He raised his wand arm again.

          “ _Avada Kedavra_!” he cried.

          A bright green flash filled the night sky, reflecting off the waves, and the woman fell to her side, dead.

          “ _NO!_ ” the man screamed.  “Niles, what have you done?  What have you done!?  Think of Astrid!  She’s not yet three!”

          Mr. Smudgeworth pointed his wand at the man, who froze, as though making up his mind about something, and then charged Mr. Smudgeworth.

          “ _Avada Kedavra_!” Smudgeworth screamed again.  Another flash of green, and now there were two dead bodies at his feet.

_Schlap.  Schlap._

          All was quiet again, yet the waves were no longer calming to Mr. Smudgeworth, who was beginning to feel as though he had just awoken from a terrible dream.  He looked down at the bodies of his beloved friends, his vision slowly clearing.

          “Oh!” he squeaked.  “Oh dear, oh _dear_!”  He fell to his knees, his eyes filling with tears.  “What have I done!?  Oh, Merlin’s _beard_!”

          The waves continued to lap at the shore as Mr. Smudgeworth began to sob.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know people are going to ask, so I'll answer the question now: Before Voldemort tried to kill Harry the first time, people freely referred to him by name. It wasn't until he was gone that people became afraid to speak his name for fear it might somehow bring him back again. I am trying to stay true to the canon.

         Many miles from Mr. Smudgeworth’s beach, the rain had already fallen over a quaint village filled with identical thatched-roof cottages, a few places of business, and a small church with an unobtrusive steeple.  Apart from the foggy streetlamps at each corner, the lights had all been turned out but for one house whose front window still shone.

          A carefully-pruned tree stood outside this window, and in it perched a large crow who was trying to sleep.  The light was distracting him, and every now and then a tall, stern-faced woman in a nightdress appeared in the window to look out at the street.  Now the crow opened one eye and found the woman once again in the window, looking rather more concerned than before.

          Inside the house, Mrs. Naiadina Featherley paced to and fro.  Returning from the window, she seated herself on a sturdy wooden sofa and drummed her fingers on the armrest.  After a few seconds, however, she seemed to grow tired of this and walked further into the dwelling, out of sight now of the crow.

          Mrs. Featherley climbed a set of curving stairs and entered a modest-sized bedroom, wherein a tiny child with mouse-brown hair lay in a bed much too large for her holding a flashlight and reading a book.  The child looked up, startled at the sudden appearance of Mrs. Featherley in the doorway.

          “Astrid,” said Mrs. Featherley, with a hint of impatience, “what did I tell you before?”

          The child appeared to concentrate and consider her words carefully before she spoke.  “You said, ‘Impressive though it may be that a child of your age is so keenly devouring storybooks, your parents will have my head if they return to find you still awake.’  Sorry, Auntie ‘Dina.”

           Mrs. Featherley blinked.  “Yes, well.  I’ll just be taking that book and that odd little light-making device.”  She strode to the bed and took the objects out of the child’s hands.

           The light seemed to come from Astrid’s eyes now as she replied, “It’s called a flashlight!  It makes light without a wand, and you don’t even have to cast a spell!  You just push this ‘ere button, see?”

          “That’s fascinating, Astrid, but now you must get some sleep.”  She pulled the covers over the girl, who placed her head cooperatively on the pillow.

          “Auntie ‘Dina?”

          “Yes, dear?”

          “I love you.”

          Mrs. Featherley smiled and kissed her on the forehead.  “I love you, too,” she said.  “Good night.”  She left the room and returned downstairs, still carrying the book and the flashlight.  After another glance out the window, she sat back down on the sofa, picked up the book, and studied the cover.  It had a shiny golden spine and was titled, _The Poky Little Puppy_.  She opened the book and began to read, even chuckling once or twice.

          Outside the window, the crow had all but decided to seek out a new roost for the remainder of the night, when there came a sound from nearby like a faint pop.  An official-looking man wearing a dark cloak and a very grim expression appeared in the yard.  The crow, resigned now to his sleepless night, peered down at the man, who hesitated briefly, sighing and shuffling from one foot to the other before straightening, clasping his hands behind his back, and striding forward.  He hesitated once more at the door to the Featherleys’ home before knocking.

          Inside, Mrs. Featherley, now examining the flashlight in some confusion, jumped up, startled.  Reaching down, she grasped a robe from the sofa to cover her nightdress, and hurried to the door.  She practically flung the door open and then froze when she saw the person who stood there.

          “Barty!” she said, in something akin to disbelief.

          “Ah, Naiadina,” the man said.  “Terribly sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I’m here on Ministry business.  Er…might I come in?”

          “Of course,” said Mrs. Featherley, clutching her robe about her and stepping aside to allow him room.

          “Where is Harold?  Sleeping?” said the man called Barty.

          “No,” came another male voice from the stairwell.  “No,” he said with a yawn, moving to stand beside his wife, “I’m up.  What’s this about, then, Crouch?”

          “Well, I’ve got a spot of bad news, I’m afraid.”  Mr. Crouch reached up to stroke a small black mustache.

          “My sister and her husband?” said Mrs. Featherley.

          “It might help if we were seated,” said Mr. Crouch.

          “Barty, has something happened to my sister?”  Mrs. Featherley stood rigidly in place.

          Mr. Crouch looked back and forth between them and sighed again.  “Not long ago, I was in my office when I received a visit from one Niles Smudgeworth.  You’re familiar with the man?”  He hesitated as the Featherleys nodded their agreement.  “Yes, well…Niles was all out of sorts.  In tears.  Could hardly speak for the blubbering.”  He cleared his throat.  “It seems Niles was in the presence of your sister and her husband earlier tonight, at a beach over in Blackpool.”

          “Yes, they went to an event there tonight, but they should have returned hours ago,” said Mrs. Featherley.

          “It seems they got into a spot of trouble on the way back to their Portkey.”

          No one spoke.

          “Killed.  Both of them,” Mr. Crouch went on.

          Mrs. Featherley screamed.  Outside, the crow, exasperated, finally took off, heading for the church steeple and a bit of rest.

          Mr. Featherley assisted his wife into a chair before saying, “When you say ‘killed’….”

          “I mean murdered,” said Mr. Crouch.  “By, so he says, Niles Smudgeworth himself.”

          “That’s not possible,” Mr. Featherley said.  “Niles is a family friend.  He would never harm them.  In fact, Niles wouldn’t harm a mosquito if it was biting him.”

          “Yes, well, he claims to have been under the Imperius Curse.”

          A deathly silence fell over the room.

          “You’re saying,” said Mr. Featherley, “you’re saying that this is the work of…of _him_.”  He gave a small shudder.

          “It very much appears so.”

          “So…it’s happened,” said Mrs. Featherley, wiping away her tears.  “It has happened to us.”

          There was another silence.

          “These are…dark times we live in, Naiadina.  _Lord Voldemort”_ —he spoke the name with disgust—“is ruthless in his treatment of Muggles.  He would go to any length—well.  Let us just say it’s a good job your sister and brother-in-law weren’t tortured, as well.  Yours is not the first grieving family.  No, not by far.  Nor will it be the last, I fear, but the Ministry is doing everything it can to stop him, as well you know.  This… _pestilence_ …must be wiped out.  The trouble is, it’s damned near impossible to tell who is innocent and who is lying.”

          “So, Niles…” Mr. Featherley began.

          “…Will be held in custody until we can hold trial.  I daresay he’ll be let off, but in the meantime, you must trust no one.  Now, I came straightaway.  I’m terribly sorry to be the bearer of such bad tidings, but we have another important matter we must discuss.  I understand Mr. and Mrs. Hastings have a young daughter?”

          Mrs. Featherley sniffed.  “Astrid, yes.”

          “We will take her, of course,” Mr. Featherley said.  He placed an arm around Mrs. Featherley’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze.

          “Yes, of course,” said Mrs. Featherley, “we have always wanted one of our own.  My sister’s child—I couldn’t give her up.”

          “Very well,” said Mr. Crouch.  “Only let me strongly caution you, for your safety and the child’s—raise her as _your own_.  I would keep the death of her birth parents quiet.  Astrid will fare much better if she is believed to be of pure blood.  That is to say…if word got around that her parents had been murdered by—well, _You-Know-Who_ …it could be very dangerous for her.  Now, I am prepared to use my connections at the Ministry to alter her birth records and Obliviate those who do not need to know—including myself.  I shall require your full cooperation.  Astrid must never know the truth about what happened to her parents.”

          “She will be our own,” said Mrs. Featherley without hesitation.  “We will tell no one.  We can work out a way to explain the situation to her.”

          “Splendid,” said Mr. Crouch.  “That brings my business here to an end.  I will leave you to it, then.  Harold, take the morning off if you need to.  Naiadina.”  He bowed his head.

          After Mr. Crouch had gone, Mrs. Featherley looked up at her husband.

          “Let her sleep,” he said.  “We can break it to her in the morning.”

          “Oh, Harold,” said Mrs. Featherley, resting her head against his shoulder as the tears fell.

          At the top of the stairs, Astrid, who had climbed out of bed immediately after Mr. Featherley had done and had overheard everything, wept silent, terrified tears of her own.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

         Of the few memories Astrid Featherley held of her birth parents, most involved reading storybooks.  She had the usual stories read by magical children—works such as _Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump_ and _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_.  But being of mixed blood, Astrid was also privy to Muggle works and those, of course, shared by both worlds, such as _The Gingerbread Man_.  Given to her by her parents the month she was born, this was one of Astrid’s all-time childhood favorites.  She fondly recalled curling up with her parents on a cold winter’s night and excitedly finishing the sentence for them every time they read, “Run, run, as fast as you can”.  Astrid’s face would light up as she exclaimed, “You can’t catch me; I’m the Gingerbread Man!”

          There were slight changes to such stories depending on which world one was in.  In the Wizarding version of _The Gingerbread Man_ , for example, the woman’s mischievous husband cast a charm on the gingerbread man so that he would run from her, and then the husband assumed his fox Animagus form to outrun his wife and eat the gingerbread himself.  The magic in the tale was toned down for Muggle children.  Astrid loved these stories the most because these felt truest to her own life as a half-blood child.

          Magical children often displayed special gifts or talents very early on in life, and for Astrid, this was the gift of learning.  By two years old she was already reading these books to herself.  This pleased her parents very much, as they were themselves both quite clever.  Astrid’s father was what Muggles called a “scientist”, and although each parent worked in astronomy, their careers were very different.  Muggle astronomy was eons behind that of the Wizarding world, but Astrid still held a great deal of respect for her father’s career, as she recognized the dedication and study it required.

          Mr. and Mrs. Hastings had met while attending a dissertation on the theory of stellar nucleosynthesis presented by Sir Fred Hoyle of Cambridge.  Astrid’s mother had wandered into the event out of curiosity over what exactly Muggle astronomy was all about, had sat beside Astrid’s father, and had walked out with him afterward to a nearby restaurant.  The two had found each other so witty that, for a few years to come, they could rarely catch their breath for laughing.  Astrid knew as much from letters to her adoptive parents from her mother, letters she devoured in her older years.

          But then came the night the laughter stopped.

          Astrid remembered far more than anyone knew about that wretched night.  The secret knowledge was a constant presence in her life, a burden she carried alone.  The state of her world and the prejudices within it rested heavily on Astrid’s shoulders.  Each time she thought to confide in someone, to share the weight of her past, the ever-present danger seemed to rise up within her.  Gripped by fear, Astrid chose instead to remain silent and stoic.

          Her adoptive parents were unaware of Astrid’s knowledge about the event.  They had woken her the following morning and explained that her parents had been robbed and consequently killed with a Muggle weapon, that she wasn’t to worry about a thing because she would live with them, and that she was free to call them Mum and Dad when she felt she was able.  They had seemed particularly insistent on this, and Astrid had known why.

          Astrid, understanding the gravity of the situation, could not bring herself to refer to her auntie and uncle as “Mum” or “Dad”, but had agreed to the more formal “Mother” and “Father”—a formality that seemed to suit the Featherleys.  Although kindhearted and loving, they were certainly more stern and rigid in their ways than the Hastings family had been, focusing less on wit and play and more on diligence and excellence.

          On the whole, Astrid could say that her childhood had been a decent one, filled with expectations, goals, and competition, to be sure, but also with privilege, love, and as much security as parents could provide for a child in a world at war.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

_August 1981._

          It was still dark and quiet in Diagon Alley when Astrid awoke for her first day on the job.  But by the time she had finished her morning routine and was preparing to leave, she could hear the sounds of a kerfuffle from outside.  Astrid headed to her window to discover the source of the disruption.  It was not hard to find.  Across the street, a vendor’s cart appeared to have been flung through the air and landed upside down, its wares scattered across the alley.  Beside it stood a scrawny young man who looked to be about Astrid’s own age.  He was shouting at a busty and smirking older woman who had her own cart in its upright position.

          “You set that right!” he was saying.  “That’s my property, it is!  I’ll sue you for damages!”

          “Oh, you will, will you?” the woman replied.  “I told you, you’re in my spot.  You need a permit to park ‘ere!  You need a permit to _sell_ ‘ere!  So you can clean up your own stuff and move out of my way.”

          “Look at you, then!  You’re so high and mighty.”  He began to circle the woman, flapping his arms in an exaggerated manner like a bird.  When he spoke again, he had lifted his voice to an absurd pitch, mocking her.  “I _own_ the alley!  Look at me, everyone!  No one come near me!  I can’t stand the competition!”

          Astrid giggled and instinctively threw her hand across her mouth, though no one would have spotted her from her window above.  Shaking her head, she stepped back and pocketed her wand before grabbing her handbag and a large notebook and going to the door.  She kept a hand on the rail as she descended the uneven stairs leading from her flat to the street below.

          “It’s not my mess,” the woman was saying.  “I’m not cleaning it up!”

          “Well, you made it!” said the young man.

          “Oy!  Keep it down!” came a new voice.  Astrid looked up to see an angry man in a nightshirt leaning out of an upstairs window.  “Some of us are still trying to sleep!”

          Astrid approached the woman, who smirked again at the other vendor, and ordered a gillywater and a pumpkin juice.  As she fished for the correct change, a law enforcement official approached to ask about the disturbance.  The woman hurried through the exchange with Astrid, apparently eager to tell her side of it, and Astrid left them to it, heading down the street in the direction of the _Daily Prophet_.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian is a wisp of a character from canon with whom I have decided to take great liberties in this story.

 

           She stopped on the stoop, taking a swig of pumpkin juice and a deep breath.  “This is it,” she muttered before turning the knob.  “Time to show them all what you're made of.”

           The world inside the _Daily Prophet_ was in stark contrast to that outside in the alley.  Employees who appeared to have been awake for hours bustled about in a frenzy, bumping into each other in their haste to arrive wherever they were going.  Paper airplanes whizzed by her head, reminding her of outings to the Ministry of Magic to visit her father.  She could hear the steady hum of a printing press, and then a low blast from a distant wand caused her to jump.

          Astrid shrank into her clothes, trying to make herself appear smaller, although no one seemed to have noticed her.  She wasn't quite sure what to do or even who to ask for directions.  She had met with the editor only briefly before and knew how very busy he must be; it would be improper and downright embarrassing to go to him for help.

          A tall, thin woman with her face buried in a piece of parchment bumped into her.  “Watch it!” the woman said in an irritated tone.

          “Sorry,” Astrid said instinctively.  The woman hurried on without acknowledging her again.

          “Astrid?” came a male voice from behind her.

          Filled with relief at having been spotted, she flung around.  “Adrian!” she said, recognizing an old school chum.  Adrian had been a few years ahead of her, but she had seen a great deal of him in the Slug Club.

          “I heard you were starting today!  Old Sluggy came through for you, did he?”

          “Yes, he was very helpful.  I wouldn't be here without him.”

          “Who will you be working with?”

          “I'm...not entirely sure.”  Astrid flushed.

          “Oh!” Adrian looked confused.  “Well...come and meet me on your break if you'd like.  No sense going out alone, times like these.  I sit over there.”  He pointed to a vague spot in the middle row of desks.

         “Right.  Thanks.  See you,” said Astrid, already peering around again for anyone else who might recognize her.

          She stood for another minute until she was approached by someone new.  This woman wore high heels and bright red lipstick with her short, platinum-blonde curls, which made her resemble a 1950s pin-up model.  A heavyset man carrying a camera followed closely behind her.

          “Miss Featherlight?” the woman said.

          “Featherley,” Astrid replied, “but Astrid is fine.”

          “Quite.”  The woman held out her hand and spoke with an air of importance.  “Rita Skeeter, Gossip Correspondent.”  Astrid reached out to shake her hand; Rita had a very stiff handshake.  “You'll be working under me.  This is Bozo,” she said, jerking her thumb towards the photographer.

          Astrid shook hands with Bozo, who held on just a fraction of a second too long and stared into her eyes in a way that seemed somehow invasive.  “Hello,” she said.

           “I'll show you where you can place your belongings,” Rita said, walking briskly to an empty desk in the far corner of the room.  “Quickly, quickly!  We have very little time before the day's first interview.  This will be your desk.  No one will disturb your things.  And...,” and here she peered around as though seeking something.  The desk was bare but for some abandoned, impersonal office supplies, but amongst the clutter, Rita spied an ugly paperweight shaped like a fat black rat and smiled, scooping it up.  “Ah,” she said.  She held the rat in one hand and produced a wand with the other.  “ _Scriptorio_ ,” she said, pointing the wand at the rat.

           Astrid watched as shiny gold lettering reading 'Astrid Featherly' appeared across the side of the rat.  “There's actually another 'e' in Feath--,” she began, but Rita interrupted, setting the makeshift nameplate atop Astrid's new desk with a _clunk_.

          “No time, no time,” Rita said.  “We'll get you a new one later.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

          The day was spent being rushed around by Rita to various interviews.  “I hope you passed your Apparitions tests,” Rita said, without bothering to look back at Astrid for acknowledgment, “because we've got _lots_ to cover this morning!”  At the site of their first location, Astrid had been handed a quill and instructed to simply “Write down everything.”  She was eager to do as she was told, though as Rita already had a quill that seemed to magically “write down everything” for her, it all seemed a bit pointless.  Still, Astrid decided to consider it good practice for the day when they would let her do this on her own.

          As she hadn't had time for a proper lunch, Astrid found her way, exhausted, over to Adrian's desk at the end of the day, and the two headed down the street to the Leaky Cauldron for supper and drinks.

          “So how was your first day?” Adrian asked after they'd been seated.

          Astrid sipped her Firewhisky too quickly and grimaced as it went down, burning her insides.  “I can handle it.”

          “How was Rita?”

          “She was all right, I suppose.”

          “I know she can be....”  Adrian trailed off.

          “What?”

          “You'll keep this between us, yeah?”

          “Of course.”

          “Well, let's just say the Queen of the Quills, star reporter though she may be, doesn't shine quite so brightly on a personal level.  I mean to say, she hasn't made many friends among her admirers.”

          “She is a bit impersonal.”

          “And very competitive.  Watch your back around that one.  And learn everything you can!”

          “That photographer of hers is certainly something.”

          Adrian straightened up at this.  “Bozo?  Not surprising.  He's got a bit of a reputation, himself, hasn't he?  Always creeping out the ladies.  If he gives you a hard time, you just let me know, all right?  I'll deal with him.”

          “All right, thanks.”

          They spent some time catching up about old friends and acquaintances.  Adrian had graduated a few years before, so Astrid filled him in on events at Hogwarts since he'd gone.

          “So how're your parents, then?” he said, when they had exhausted this subject.

          But Astrid's attention had suddenly been arrested by another familiar face in the far corner.  She had almost missed it, hidden by shadow as it was, but there, leaning against the wall, was the all-too-recognizable lanky figure of Barty Crouch, Jr.  He was surrounded by three ominous-looking older people Astrid did not know, and they appeared to be deep in a serious conversation about something.  He did not seem to have noticed her, so fixated were they on their discussion, but she glanced quickly away when he turned towards her a second later.

          “Hm?  Oh...they're still safe.  Yeah, everyone's well.  Thanks, Adrian.  How's your family?”

          “We lost my little sister.  Darling Sarah.”

          “Oh, no.”

          “Yeah.  Group of Death Eaters attacked a playground, of all places.  Slimy bastards.”

          “Adrian, I'm so sorry.  I read about that when it happened!  They didn't name any of the children.  I had no idea.”

          “That's very kind of you, thanks.”  Adrian stared into the frothy mug in front of him for a moment, during which Astrid was certain she saw a tear form and then fall.

          “A playground!  Of _all_ places!  Is no place sacred from those beasts?”  The posh accent he normally affected (at, Astrid suspected, Professor Slughorn's prompting) seemed to vanish more with every sip he took.  “And we're of pure blood and all that!  I thought that's what it was all supposed to be about.  The whole bloody war.  Some folks is worth more'n other folks on account of what body they was born into.  But what sort of—of _vermin_ attacks children?  I ask you!”

          Astrid stole another uneasy glance over towards the corner, only to discover that Barty and his friends had vanished.

          Adrian continued:  “If I ever find the bastards what done it, I'll kill 'em meself!  I'll swear to that!”

          “Adrian, have you ever heard any rumors about Barty?”

          “Crouch?  Junior?  What sort of rumors d'you mean?”

          “He hangs around with some sketchy people.”

          “Well, he's a Slytherin, isn't he?  He can hardly help but be acquainted with some creepy folks.  It don't make him a Death Eater, though, if that's what you're implying.  Couldn't be.  Just look who his father is!”

          Astrid did not point out the absurdity in Adrian's two claims:  That merely being associated with suspicious sorts did not make Barty himself suspicious, but that being associated with his father made him innocent.  She chose to let the matter drop.  After all, if she was wrong, it was a risky accusation to make.

          “Well, I should be getting home,” she said.  “I think I'm going to need my energy tomorrow.  Are you all right?”

          “Yeah, I'll be fine.  See you in the morning, then!”

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

         She was pensive that night as she walked back to her flat and began preparing for bed.  She thought about her new job, about poor Adrian and his sister, about her parents—her birth parents—and the state of her world, which had been at war for almost as far back as she could remember.

          And mostly, she thought about Barty.

          She could remember the first time she had ever met Barty Crouch, Jr.  The Crouch family had invited the Featherleys to supper at their estate one night in autumn when she was 5 years old and Barty was 6.  It was the largest house Astrid had ever seen, before or since, and also the first time she had seen a house-elf.

          The Featherleys had asked Astrid whether she would like to bring a gift to the young boy she would be meeting at dinner.  Astrid had generously brought along a book of nursery stories she had read numerous times.  When they arrived, Barty, Jr. had hidden behind his mother's legs after first spotting Astrid.  Understanding his timidity, she had wordlessly held the book out to him.  After a pause, he had reached for it, and then, excitedly, addressed his father:  “Father!  Father, lookit!  Lookit what she brought me!”

          “Not now, son,” his father had replied, already deep in conversation with Astrid's father.

          Astrid did not recall what they had eaten that night.  Something gourmet, no doubt.  What she did remember was the adoration Barty had shown his father, and how little his father seemed to notice.  It made her heart ache for him, and also for herself and what she had lost.  The Featherleys were good to her, but she longed to be noticed by her own parents, as well.  To be loved by them, held in their arms.

          After supper, the children had been excused to the nursery, accompanied by the house-elf Winky, who read aloud to them from the book Astrid had brought.  Barty had grinned at Astrid and held her hand during one of the stories.

          “You're good at this, Winky,” the boy had said.  “But I sometimes wish Father would read to me.”

          “Doesn't your father read to you?” Astrid had asked.

          “I don't think Father ever notices me much,” the boy had replied.  “He isn't home much.  And when he is home, he just says, 'Not now, son'.  I'm not one of those Death Eaters; that's all he cares about.”

          The house-elf had thrown her hands over her ears and cried out, “Master Barty mustn't say such things about his father!  His father is a good man!  His father loves Master Barty!”

          Astrid was horrified by his words.  “You shouldn't say that.  Those are bad people.  That's why our fathers have to catch them.”

          “Have Death Eaters ever stopped your father reading to you?”

          Astrid imagined she had felt her heart stop at these words.  “They stop lots of people's fathers reading to them.  Sometimes forever.”

          Barty had evidently not known what to say to that, and Winky had insisted on reading more of the storybook.

          Astrid had seen Barty again from time to time over the years preceding Hogwarts.  He was always kind to her, always pleasant, yet she saw a sadness in him that he tried to keep hidden.  He was like her in that way.

          They were chummy and competitive in their earlier years at Hogwarts.  He being a Slytherin and a year ahead, she did not expect to see much of him after being sorted into Ravenclaw, but Astrid's astronomical grades got her noticed by Professor Horace Slughorn and inducted into his Slug Club for extraordinary students midway through her first year.  When she arrived to her very first meeting, shy and terrified to find herself surrounded by unfamiliar students of every age and house, she had been pleased to see Barty there, as well.  Here was someone she knew, someone she could look up to.

          The Slug Club were a close-knit bunch.  In her 4th year Astrid began dating a 6th year member by the name of Dirk Cresswell, who impressed her with his talent for languages.  After he wrote her a poem entirely in the Goblin language, Gobbledegook, she was smitten, and Barty became quite distant towards her.  The one time she had ever received detention had been for sneaking out of her dorm in the middle of the night to meet Dirk.  Instead she had run into Barty, who was by then a Hogwarts Prefect.  She had tried and failed to appeal to their past friendship; he had coldly advised her that he had orders and he couldn't make allowances for her gallivants, boyfriend or no boyfriend.  She had been marched straight to her head of house, who informed her exasperatedly that sneaking around was “for Gryffindors and people who are up to something”.  She had never gone late-night exploring again.  As a hopeful journalist, she really could have used the practice.

          Although she had ended things with Dirk later that year, she and Barty did not rekindle their past friendship after that.  There was a frost between them that never lifted.  They saw each other and were polite enough when necessary in Slug Club meetings, but that was as far as it went.

          It was only after he graduated that she started to hear things that made her blood run cold.  Only whispers, nothing more, about the company he had begun to keep and speculation as to where his loyalties lay.  Another Slug member—a 6th year named Lockhart from her own house—swore he had personally spotted Barty heading into Knockturn Alley with “a nasty-looking fellow”, but Lockhart didn't know much more than that, and as he had a bit of a reputation for embellishing, Astrid wasn't sure she believed him.

          Still, as they hadn't been close for years, she hadn't worried too much about it.

          Until now.

          “Just look who his father is,” Adrian had said.

 _Not now, son_ , was Astrid's final coherent thought as she drifted off to sleep.

 


	8. Chapter 8

          She didn't get to sleep through the night, as she was awoken at 4 in the morning by owl post from Rita, advising her to get to the _Prophet_ straight away, don't _even_ bother washing up; they had a Death Eater attack to cover.

          The vendors weren't even out selling their wares yet as Astrid made her way to work 20 minutes later, out of sorts, eyelids drooping and hair a disaster, but awake and ready for duty.

          “What took you so long!?” said Rita, who looked flawless and exasperated.

          “Sorry,” said Astrid, “I—”

          “Never mind.  Just fetch a quill and follow me.”

          The scene they Apparated to was more gruesome than Astrid had been prepared for.  They were on a street in downtown London, and despite the early hour, a crowd had already gathered, drawn by the violence.

          The body of a woman not much older than Astrid sat propped against the side of a building, leaning into a dumpster.  The woman had been beautiful, Astrid could see.  She imagined a lot of work had gone into her makeup and teased blonde hair before she had gone out the night before.  But now her makeup looked as though it had been through a fight, and her hair had fallen down around her bare shoulders where her top was torn.  Astrid took a closer look.  It appeared someone had carved a word into the skin across the woman's chest.  “MUGGLE”, it said.  There was a lot of blood.  Astrid felt sick to her stomach.

          A group of Aurors was divided between examining the scene of the crime and obliviating muggle bystanders, one of whom, a middle-aged woman in pajamas and slippers, Rita immediately cornered.

          “Rita Skeeter, Gossip Correspondent for the _Daily Prophet_ ,” Rita said to the muggle woman in a sugary voice.

          “The _Daily_ 'oo?” the woman asked.

          “Would you be interested in answering some questions about what happened here?”

          “Dunno much,” the woman replied.  “Me 'usband is a street sweeper.  'E was doin' 'is job and rang me to get down 'ere, a trollop 'ad been done in. I came down quick as I could.”

          “How did he know she was a trollop?” Rita said, sounding almost overly-eager to Astrid's ears, under the circumstances.

          “Well, 'e was lookin' at 'er, at 'ow she was dressed, wasn't 'e?”

          “Would you say that, in a way, this woman got what she deserved, being out late at night by herself?”

          Astrid's mouth fell open; she could _not_ have heard Rita clearly.

          “I dunno as anyone _deserves_ murderin' just for lookin' as she does...and I dunno wot a muggle is, but I can take a guess,” she added knowingly.

          “But the situation could have been avoided had she not been out alone in the middle of the night?”

          “Obviously she wouldn't'a been walkin' in the pathway of a murderer otherwise.”

          “Thank you,” Rita said, looking delighted.  She grabbed a nearby Auror by the arm and said, “This one can be obliviated now; I'm through with her.”

          Astrid rushed over.  “Weren't those leading questions you were asking just now?”

          “Hm?” said Rita.

          “That woman.  You asked her leading questions.  You know, a question designed to get the answer you want?”

          Rita looked disinterestedly at Astrid.  “How else do you expect to get the best quotes?”

          “But that's unethical!” said Astrid, though Rita had already approached another bystander and made no sign that she had heard Astrid, or cared.

          Bozo pushed past Astrid with a smirk.  “Why don't you stay out of the way and let the big kids do the job, eh?” he said, promptly turning his back on her.

          She heard Rita asking a young man whether he had seen anything suspicious.

          “I didn't see anything myself, but I did hear there were a few fellows in dark robes, like judges or summat.”

          “How interesting,” said Rita.  “Would you say they were wearing masks?”

          “Yeah, that's what I heard, all right.  Big scary ones, like—like animal skulls, someone said!”

          “Perhaps like....” Rita paused as though to find the right words.  “Perhaps like a...Satanic...ritual?”

          Astrid rolled her eyes.

          The man's face lit up.  “Just like that!” he said.  “Did you see what they wrote on her?  'Muggle', it said.  That's a term from Demonology, it is!”  He nodded emphatically.

          “Would you call this a ritualistic human sacrifice?”

          “Absolutely,” the man said.  “I don't know what demons they were trying to summon, but there's evil in the air, you know?  You can feel it, can't you?”

          “Almost like the...End of Times?”

          “It feels just like that!” the man said, as though he had lived through the End of Times countless times before and this was just par for the course.  Astrid couldn't resist an audible “tut” and the man looked over at her, surprised.  She pretended to cough.

          “So this must be the work of someone very evil indeed?” Rita pressed.

          “Mebbe...mebbe Lucifer himself!”

          Astrid was in disbelief.  This couldn't be how things were done at the biggest newspaper in the British wizarding world...could it?

 


	9. Chapter 9

    

           Back at the _Prophet_ later that morning, Astrid eagerly reached for a copy of the late morning paper, updated to include the breaking news of the most recent Death Eater attack, and carried it to her desk.  The story took up the entire front page, of course.  She scanned for the byline she was seeking and found it in a sidebar titled “GOSSIP”.  The headline read, “LATEST VICTIM RAISES QUESTIONS OVER DARK MUGGLE PROPHECY”.

_Today's Death Eater attack on a young woman leaves even muggles fearing for their futures, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.  Eyewitnesses to the slaughtered remains of the once-beautiful Beth Greeley, 23, Muggle, were understandably filled with dread.  Although of course unable to grasp the true poignancy of the grisly scene that awaited them right in the heart of London this morning, it was clear the muggles could sense something deeper underlying the crime.  One witness, who wished to remain unnamed, referred to the murder as a sign of the so-called “End of Times”—an elusive date certain muggles believe will be brought about by an unstoppable force of evil destroying the world and everyone who lives in it.  This “Apocalypse”, as it is also sometimes called, will revolve around one very powerful dark wizard, feared by many and esteemed by an elite few chosen ones who do his bidding.  “I don't know what demons they were trying to summon, but there's evil in the air...you can feel it, can't you?” the witness remarked.  When pressed for further details, he stated that this was “obviously the work of evil forces” and “maybe Lucifer himself”.  Is it possible there is a connection to this ancient muggle prophecy and the current events of our own world?  Could we be living in the muggles' “End of Times”?  Perhaps we have more to fear from the Dark Lord Voldemort and his followers than previously imagined.  After all, if they can traverse worlds to do his bidding in attacks such as the one on Miss Greeley, maybe the muggle prophecy has more to say about our collective impending doom than we had previously accredited it._

_On the other hand, there is some speculation that Miss Greeley's death, while tragic, was simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  56-year-old Molly Plummer, a tired-looking woman with a Cockney accent as thick as her coif, suggests that the crime was so avoidable, it could even have been expected.  “She were [sic] prettier than she had any right to be,” Mrs. Plummer told the_ Daily Prophet _.  “A trollop like that should know better than to go wandering the streets at night.”  With an expression that suggested she understood more than she was willing to say, Mrs. Plummer concluded,“It's just one of those things where you keep away from trouble and trouble keeps away from you.”_

 _Just one of those things, or dark muggle prophecy interlocking the fates of us all?  The_ Prophet _leaves it to you to decide._

          Astrid was fuming.  She could not believe the rubbish in her hands.  She had _been_ there as Rita had interviewed these people.  These quotes were inaccurate and taken out of context.  The so-called “Molly Plummer” had never even provided a name!  This was the organization she had so longed to work for?

          Rita approached just then, wearing a smile that read to Astrid as victorious.  No doubt she was being congratulated all over the building for her latest bilge.  Astrid scowled back.

          “So,” said Rita, in the sweetest voice she had ever directed at Astrid, “do you think you're up to the challenge of your own first story?”

          “Sure!” Astrid said, carefully swallowing her resentment.  “What do you have in mind?”

          Rita dropped a thick manila envelope on Astrid's desk with a dull thud.  “These are the owls that come in each day that get left behind after everyone has their assignments.  Many of them don't get covered, unfortunate as that might be.”  She didn't look as if it was unfortunate at all, or as if she cared.  “But now we have you to help us with some of the extra weight!”  Her smile brightened, but behind it Astrid sensed something impure.

          “Great, I'd love to,” Astrid said.

          “Excellent!  Choose whatever you like.  Follow a lead today and maybe see your name in the morning edition.  Good luck.”  With that, she turned and left Astrid alone with the file.

          Astrid could see that she had just been handed every odd, dull, or otherwise undesirable lead that had entered the building for perhaps the last month.  _Oh, well_ , she thought, _it has to be better than following Bozo and Bimbo all day._   She sighed and began flipping through the file.

 


	10. Chapter 10

          Half an hour later, Astrid found herself hailing a Persian carpet taxi at Black Carp Company to a small country lane near Sussex.  The sun was high, but the temperature was mild for an August day, and she found herself enjoying the breeze as the taxi sailed through the sky, and then the walk to her destination.  A smell like wisteria greeted her coyly, and she could hear bumblebees from the green field beside the dirt lane.  Reaching the address written in her notebook, she knocked on the door to a large two-story dwelling.

          For a moment, nothing happened.  Astrid knocked again, certain she had heard a sound from inside, and the door was opened by a round young woman with rosy cheeks and a pleasant smile.

          “Sorry, love, had to get my pasties out of the oven!  What can I do for you?”

          “I'm Astrid Featherley,” Astrid said, holding out her hand, “from the _Daily Prophet_. I'm following a lead about magically modified pumpkins?”  She made the last part a question, feeling nervous and slightly unsure of herself.

          The woman's face lit up.  “Of course!” she said.  “Do come in!  I'm Emma Tarts.  Would you care for some refreshment?  There's fresh pumpkin juice.  And pasties!”

          “Oh...no, thanks,” said Astrid, “I'm only here on business.”

          “Oh, but this is the business you're here about, isn't it?  You might as well,” Emma said, already leading the way into a cheerfully decorated kitchen.  She pulled out a chair for Astrid and made for the cupboard, where she removed two plates and two glasses.

          “Well...I suppose it'd be foolish not to,” Astrid said, relaxing a bit and allowing a small smile.

          “Right you are, dearie,” said Emma, scooping two pasties onto the plates and setting one before Astrid.  “Careful!  This one's still piping hot!  Best let it cool a bit first.  Here's some juice while you wait.  Auntie Emma makes only the best!”

          “ _You're_ Auntie Emma!?” Astrid said, instantly recognizing the biggest name in pumpkin juice in Britain.  What luck!  This lead wasn't such a dud, after all.

          “Yes, that's right!  I own Auntie Emma's Finest Pumpkin Juice.”

          “You have one of the most popular culinary brands in the country.  Why are you seeking an interview with the _Prophet_ now?” said Astrid, readying her quill.

          “Well, perhaps _Witch Weekly_ would have been the more logical choice.  However, my main goal was to bring a little light to the world, and the paper has been such an awfully dark place of late.”  She shuddered.  “And after that latest attack this morning...well, the time is definitely ripe for some cheer, wouldn't you say?”

          “Undoubtedly,” said Astrid.  “How do you propose to do that?”

          “I try to do my little part every day to bring some joy into people's lives.  But I'd like to play a more active role.  I'd like to teach gardening classes to anyone who wants them.”

          “You mentioned in your message to the _Prophet_ that you had learned how to magically modify the way a plant grows, to control its flavor?”

          “Yes, that's right.”

          “Aren't you concerned someone might steal your secret recipe?”

          “Oh, no, dear, my recipe is patented.  That isn't a concern.  But I'd like to help others learn how to create more beautiful—and tasty!—things.  Together I think we can make the world a better place, in our own small ways, by enriching the senses.”

          “What can you tell me about the modification process?”

          Astrid discussed herbology, cooking, and positivity with Auntie Emma until well into the afternoon before apparating back to the _Prophet_ to prepare her story.  Working diligently, she was able to spin together the uplifting piece she thought Auntie Emma was hoping for before the deadline for the next morning's paper.  Sure, it wasn't front-page-worthy, but she had worked hard on it and produced a first story that she could be proud of.

          She awoke and prepared for work eagerly the next morning, curious to see whether her story would have made it into the paper anywhere.  To her surprise she found it, not near the end, but in the middle.  She read it carefully.  It had been trimmed a bit for length, but nothing else had been tampered with.  She couldn't resist a self-satisfied smirk as she sat at her desk.

          Rita hadn't bothered to greet her yet that morning.  In fact, when Astrid had walked past her upon entering the building, Rita had not even acknowledged her.  If she had seen Astrid's piece, she hadn't been inclined to comment.  Astrid could see her sitting at her desk.  She couldn't be sure, but it almost seemed Rita was blatantly ignoring her.

          Astrid took the initiative and approached.

          “Good morning,” she said.

          Rita did not look up.  “Hello,” she said, sounding harassed.

          “I'm just going to work on my file, then, this morning, shall I?” Astrid said.

          “Oh, yes.  You can add this stack to it,” Rita said, handing her another manila folder nearly as thick as the day before, and turning back to her work without another word.

          “I'll let you know if I need anything,” Astrid said, heading back to her desk.

          She was surprised to spot the Editor walking over to Rita's desk a moment later.  Perhaps Rita had been unbelievably busy, much too busy to make eye contact with Astrid, a moment before, but all of that was forgotten as she looked up and began fawning all over the Editor.

          “Hesiod!” Astrid heard her drawl.  “How are you this morning?”

          They made boring small talk for a while, Rita's work long forgotten, before Hesiod said something that drew Astrid's attention again.

          “That new intern you have published something quite unique this morning!”

          Astrid saw Rita hesitate for the merest of seconds, glance over, and lock eye contact with her.

          “Did she?” Rita said, her smile fading ever so slightly.

          “Oh, yes!  Whoever would have thought such a light, feel-good piece could come from a simple story about pumpkins?”

          Rita grinned.  “Of course, I put her onto the thing.”

          Hesiod guffawed.  “ _Did_ you?”

          “Indeed!  Scoop and spin!”

          “I might've known!”  Hesiod chortled again.  “Nothing gets past the Queen of the Quills!”

          “It certainly doesn't,” Rita said, smiling in Astrid's direction.

          “Well, better get to it!” Hesiod said, and walked past Astrid's desk without so much as a glance in her direction.

 


	11. Chapter 11

          Two weeks passed in much the same way.  Rita left Astrid largely to her own devices and Astrid worked overtime to churn out stories no one cared about, while Rita stole the recognition for any actually noteworthy pieces for herself.

          One night when Astrid thought she couldn't take it anymore, she stormed to Adrian's desk at the end of her shift, teeth bared and hair askew, and growled, “Let's go.”

          “All right,” he said, wide-eyed, “let me just clear up my things.”

          They headed to the Leaky Cauldron, where Astrid immediately ordered drinks for both of them before unleashing all her pent-up aggravation.

          “She doesn't even _look_ at me when I pass her, Adrian!  Won't even acknowledge my presence!  She's supposed to be my boss!  I'm supposed to be able to look up to her!  Glean inspiration!  And everything I do is just _wrong_ , might I add!  She finds a hundred things to nitpick out of every story I put out!  And then when I try to do something the way she _told_ me to do it, suddenly _that's_ the wrong way to do it, too!  And it's all _my_ fault because how could I have been stupid enough to misunderstand her the first time?  I don't even know anymore if the problem is me or her!  I mean, it must be me, right, because everyone _loves_ her, so clearly I'm missing _something_!  I mean, is she just screwing about with my head, or am I really that pathetic?”

          Adrian watched somberly throughout this diatribe and spoke up when Astrid paused for breath.

          “Yeah, I thought this might happen,” he said.  “You're not the first, you know.  I've seen four interns walk out because they couldn't deal with her anymore.  And yes, she's definitely screwing with your head.  Don't even think you're pathetic because you're not!  You do good work with what you're given to work _with_! I've seen it!”

          Astrid let forth a scream of rage at this.  “And that's the other thing!” she said.  “I know I'm only just starting, but how am I ever supposed to advance from under her?  With her constantly shitcanning me to everyone above her, how can I ever get ahead?”

          “You're resourceful!  You'll think of something.  And I doubt she's shitcanning—”

          “I've heard her!” Astrid interjected.

          “Well...even so.”  He looked uncomfortable.

          As Astrid began to devour her toad-in-the-hole, she happened to glance over into the same corner she had spotted Barty Crouch, Jr. in a couple weeks before and found him again, this time dining alone.  It was then that the hatchling of an idea began to come to her.  Resourceful.  Yes, she was resourceful.  If Rita was going to actively work to stunt her career at the _Prophet_ , then maybe...maybe she would just find the story of the century on her own.

          She continued to eat her supper, this time without taking her eye off him.  After a while, Adrian noticed and turned to look where she was watching.

          “What are you staring—blimey, it's Barty again!”  He looked back at her, suspicious.  “What's your obsession with him all of a sudden, anyway?”

          “What?  I'm not obsessed!”

          “Yeah, you went on about him strangely a while back and now you can't keep your eyes off him.  Are you in love or something?  I know he was interested in you back at Hogwarts—”

          “Not love,” Astrid said, “just...interest.”  She found Adrian's suspicions a useful cover for her real intentions.

          “Well, go and talk to him, then.  What have you got to lose?”

          “I'm just nervous, that's all.  We haven't been close for years.”

          “So rekindle something!”

          “There was no kindling there in the first place.  We were just friends, that's all.”

          “Friends, right.  I remember how he stopped speaking to you when you started seeing Dirk all those years ago.”

          She took out her wallet, prepared to pay in case she had to get up in a hurry, and just in time, too, for at that moment, Barty stood up.  She hurriedly threw some cash on the table.

          “I've got to go, Adrian, sorry!”

          “Now?”  He turned back to look at Barty.  “Oh, I see.  Best of luck to you, then!”

          Astrid downed a shot of Firewhisky and bade Adrian a quick farewell before chasing after Barty, heart pounding against her chest. Anything for the story, right?

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

         Astrid watched from a few yards back.  He passed Florean Fortescue’s, and it was clear where he was headed next.  She hesitated.  She never ventured into Knockturn Alley.  Just the thought gave her anxiety.  But then she thought of Rita and, with a new resolve, darted forward.

          When she turned the corner, everything went instantly darker.  Looking up, she saw faint starlight.  The place was so creepy, even the sun wouldn’t show its face here.  She shivered.  There was a new chill in the air.  Having no idea now of where Barty had gone, she was very leery to continue.  She stepped timidly forward and, with a gasp, tripped over someone resting against the wall below her.  She was unsure whether the man was dead or drunk.  This was not the place for her, and she knew it.

          She paused again in front of a window display of shrunken heads to let her eyes adjust to the murkiness.  “Oh, you look lost,” one of them jeered at her, and another chimed in with a false motherly tone, “Do you know where you are, dearie?”  They all began to cackle.  Astrid, frightened that their voices would have alerted Barty and anyone else in the vicinity to her presence, spun to flee back into the light and bumped right into someone standing stock still behind her.  Unable to withhold a scream, she looked up and saw that it was Barty, and wasn’t certain whether this was more or less startling.

          His face was expressionless and shadowed in the dim light cast by the Borgin and Burke’s storefront.  She grasped for anything she could say to him, further disconcerted when she noticed he was holding his wand.

          “Why are you following me, Miss Featherley?” he said.  He was calm and cool, not at all unnerved by the situation.  Not like she was.

          “I—I wasn’t really,” she began.

          He stared.  “You weren’t.”  It wasn’t even a question.  He didn’t believe her; of course he didn’t.  “Sneaking around is not a talent of yours.”

          She felt mildly insulted and more than a bit silly.  “I wasn’t sneaking, I mean,” she said.  “I—I was trying to catch up to you.  I was surprised to see you.  I never got to say goodbye when you left Hogwarts.  I never…got to tell you how much I admired you,” she said, an idea forming in her mind.

          “Admired?” he said.  The expression on his face had not altered, but by a slight change in intonation, she could tell she had sparked his interest.

          “Yes,” she said.  “Of course.  Admired.  You were the brightest wizard of our generation.  Top grades, great OWLs…not to mention very attractive.”

          It wasn’t a complete lie.  His name was eponymous with the phrase ‘tall, dark, and handsome’.  He definitely looked surprised now, and a bit pleased with himself.

          But ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ wasn’t all he was known for.  There were those rumors that had led her to follow him today.  “And I think we hold the same ideals,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.

          He frowned.  “What ideals are those?”

          She took a deep, shuddery breath and clutched at her wand.  “We both want the purification of Wizarding schools.”

          There was a long pause, and then he licked his lips.  It was a subtle tic she had begun to notice in his final year at Hogwarts.

          “Interesting,” he said finally.

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

         Barty asked Astrid to accompany him to the Hog's Head Pub in Hogsmeade Village.  “Nice, quiet place for a chat,” he said.

          Inside her mind, Astrid was panicking, but she let none of that come through outwardly.  A lifetime of keeping the secret of her family hidden from everyone on the planet had given her an inscrutable poker face.  “That sounds great,” she said instead.

          The two of them apparated to Hogsmeade together.  Barty ordered drinks for both of them and they found a table in a dark and quiet corner of the establishment.  Astrid felt the old bartender watching them and thought that something about him seemed disturbingly familiar, though she was aware that now was not the time to ponder it.  She took a sip of the dark beer Barty had bought.  The bitterness distracted her from her nerves, so she took another sip.

          He watched her thoughtfully, not having touched his own dusty mug.

          “So,” he said.  “You say we're like-minded.  Tell me more.”

          She took another big swallow of the bitter brew and said, “Well.  It was only a hunch I had.  People talked a bit—”

          “People?” he interjected sharply.

          “Er...Gilderoy,” she said.

          “You believed Gilderoy?”  He let out his breath in an incredulous huff.

          “It was...just a glimmer of hope.  That there might be someone out there I could turn to.  Someone who—someone who actually had his head on straight.  Someone I could trust.  To be honest,” she added, the lies flowing easily now, “I took quite a risk in approaching you.  What if I'd been wrong about you, after all?  I mean, what then?  Why, you might have turned me in to your father—or mine!  And that's all I need, is for my parents to find out they've got a prospective Death Eater for a daughter!”

          He gave the pub a once-over at this last bit and licked his lips before speaking in low tones.  “Look, you can't just go around blurting out things like that in public.”

          “Oh!” Astrid said, throwing her hand dramatically over her mouth and giggling for added effect.  “Sorry, of course!”

          “No, it's all right, I understand the enthusiasm.  Our time will come, and soon,” he said.  “This... _pestilence..._ infesting our society and our schools will be wiped out.  We will all get what is coming to us—Purebloods and...otherwise.  Very soon—sooner than you realize, Miss Featherley—it will be a crime to speak out against the Dark Lord.”

          She noted how his eyes flashed as he purred the words, “Dark Lord”.  She repressed a shudder.  “Please.  Just call me Astrid,” she said.  “We have known each other for too long.  Do you...see your family at all these days?”

          “Of course.  Have to keep up appearances.”

          “With the name your father has made for himself, I would have thought you would keep away.”

          He snorted derisively.  “I'm not afraid of him,” he said.  “You must keep two steps ahead of the enemy at all times, Astrid.  Constant vigilance!”

          It saddened her to hear him refer to his father as “the enemy”, but she understood that, through the years, he might have come to view his father that way organically.  Long before, perhaps, his love for Lord Voldemort had taken root.  Or maybe the latter had washed away and replaced his love for the former.  Who could say?  She felt sorry for him, brainwashed, as he was, by the movement he followed.  Was there hope for him?  He followed an evil man who called for genocide against people like her birth father.  Lord Voldemort solicited his followers to commit heinous acts in his name.  Perhaps Barty himself?  She thought of the muggle woman she had seen dead in the street that morning.  Had he been involved?  Or Adrian's kid sister.  Innocent people and their families destroyed by Lord Voldemort and his followers...people like Barty.  If there was hope for such a person, what could create that change?  What could stomp out that hatred?  Love?

          “I want to know more about what you do,” she said, feigning enthusiasm.  “Do you know the Dark Lord personally?  Do you...get to work for him?”

          He licked his lips, studying her.  And then he smiled.  Darkly.  Beatifically.  “You'll find out,” he said.

 


	14. Chapter 14

          “Mother!  Father?” Astrid called, after apparating into her parents' living room the following evening.

          “Astrid?” came the voice of Mrs. Featherley from upstairs.  Astrid began walking that way, but Mrs. Featherley appeared at the top of the stairs.  “So I did hear you!” she said, running down to embrace Astrid.  “What are you doing home?  Come, let's sit!  I want to hear all about your new job!”

          “I can't stay long.  I actually just came to pick up some of my belongings.  I have to be at work early tomorrow.”

          “Oh?  Did you leave something important behind?”

          Astrid hesitated.  The item she wanted was going to become very important indeed; it might even save her life someday, with what she was getting herself into.

          “Nothing really important, no.  Just something I want.  A sentiment.”  She made herself laugh, as though it was silly.  It had to appear that way.  She didn't want her parents to worry, and with what she was getting herself into, anyone in their right minds would worry.

          Mrs. Featherley laughed uncertainly.  “Well, what is it?”

          “Just my Bottomless Bottle.”

          Her mother laughed again.  “I'd forgotten about that old thing!  You couldn't possibly want that now, could you?  Haven't you got enough to work on with the paper?”

          “It really meant a lot when you and Father gave it to me.  I just wanted to have it.”

          “Oh, how sweet.  Well, I'm sure we could find it in your room!”

          “I know exactly where it is.  I'll be right back down.”

          Bottomless Bottles were marketed by _Witch Weekly_ to preteen girls.  Astrid's had been given to her by her parents for her eleventh birthday along with her Hogwarts letter, and she had treasured it then.  The way it worked was by a secret “password” that the user set up.  The bottle would release its contents only to its owner, and only if the owner said the magic word, so to speak.  The owner could write her thoughts on parchment and stuff it into the bottle, which would never (or at least, not for many years of constant input) fill up completely—hence “bottomless”.  It was very popular as the most secret of all diaries for magical preteens.

           Astrid had thought of a new use for it.  With what she would be doing, she would need a secret place to store her notes about Barty and his friends, and who would suspect a child's toy?  Her plan was to shrink it and have it set with a chain to wear as a necklace, so no one would ever guess it was more than just jewelry, and it would always be close to her body.

           “ _Diminuendo_ ,” she said, and watched the object shrink until it was the size of a pendant.

          With the object found, she rushed back down the stairs.

          “Are you sure you can't stay for a cup of tea?” her mother said, with a hopeful lilt to her voice.

          “I really can't.  Sorry, Mother.”  Astrid had been hurrying but suddenly stopped herself, feeling guilty.  She really looked at her mother, whose face had fallen.  Astrid gave her a long hug.  “I really am.  But I'll come back to see you and Father one day very soon.  I love you, you know.”

          “I know, Star Princess.”  It was her mother's pet name for her.  “It gets lonely here with you away and your father working so late every night these days.  But I know, I'm being silly.  You have your work to get to.  I love you, too.  Be careful!”

          “I will,” Astrid promised, knowing even as she did so that she would have to break it almost immediately.  With that, she apparated back to her flat.

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

         Astrid hastily stored the Bottomless Bottle in a desk drawer with some other trinkets before heading out to the alley to grab a quick bite of supper from a vendor.  Although there was nothing incriminating in it yet, she was aware of the possibility of intrusion by Barty's friends and didn't want it drawing any attention.

          A tall, dark-haired fellow was standing at the base of the stairs leading up to her flat.  He turned as she approached, and when she saw that it was Barty, she gasped.

          “Oh, I'm sorry; did I frighten you?” he said.

          “A bit.  I just wasn't expecting company, is all.  ...How did you know where I lived?”

          “Well, I followed you home last night.”

          It was not what Astrid wanted to hear.  “Why?” she said.

          “Make sure no one else did.”

          “Oh,” she said, nodding as though this made sense and she wasn't at all terrified.  “Right, well...I was planning to make an early night of it.”

          “There's something I want to show you.  Won't take long.”

          In spite of herself, she was very curious what he wanted to show her.  She did her best to hide her fear and assume a mask of enthusiasm.  “Are we going to meet the Dark Lord?” she said.

          He flashed her an impressed smirk.  “You are eager to learn, aren't you?” he said.  “But no, not tonight.  We'll start with the basics.  I won't disrespect the Dark Lord by bringing him someone who isn't ready.”

          Astrid had an odd moment in which she was unsure whether or not to be stung by this barb.  “Ready for what?” she said with a short laugh.

          He simply smiled, appearing almost giddy, put his hands in his pockets, and turned on his heel, nodding at her to come along, and Astrid found herself following him, once more, to Knockturn Alley.  Once more, fear and curiosity waged war within her stomach.  She reminded herself why she was doing this.  She had stumbled onto a huge lead.  She was lucky...wasn't she?

          It was eerie over here, though she thought perhaps she was safe for the moment.

          Unless he was onto her.  Could he be onto her?  No, of course not.  She had done nothing to give herself away other than show some nervousness, but she thought she had covered up for that rather well.

          Barty was peering around at the cobblestones as though looking for something.  Astrid was about to ask what he was doing when she heard a faint squeaking sound and Barty said, “Ahh... _Stupefy_!”

          Astrid jumped, then immediately recognized that of course the curse had not been aimed at her.  Barty knelt down and picked up a large, motionless rat.  He studied it, expressionless.

          “What are you doing with that?” she said.  She couldn't imagine why he had brought her out here to show her a rat.

          “Astrid, do you remember Sixth Year Defense Against the Dark Arts, learning about Unforgivable Curses?”

          Astrid froze, suddenly apprehensive again.  “Yes...why?”

          “Did they teach you how to perform them?”

          Astrid stared at him and then at the rat.  “Well, no.  That would have been illegal.”

          “You must get past the concept of legality.  The Dark Lord's day is fast approaching.  Soon it will be only his law that matters, and he won't bat an eye at his people using defensive spells to protect themselves.”

          “Protect themselves from what?”

          “When the Dark Lord takes over, there will be hordes of furious mudbloods taking up arms.  They must be controlled.”

          “Of course,” Astrid said.  The cognitive dissonance baffled her.  How could a person be so adamant about their superiority over another person, and yet fear that person's abilities, as well?

          Of course, she realized it was all a lie.  Something he told himself to justify the torture and killing of innocent people.  She eyed the rat he was holding.

          “If you wish to fall into favor with the Dark Lord,” he said softly, “the first thing you must do is learn to properly protect him.  _Imperio_.”

          The curse had come so suddenly that she barely had time to process it.  Barty held the rat on his palm and pointed his wand at it with his other hand.  The rat stood up on its hind legs and began to dance.  It was such an absurd sight as to be almost comical, and Astrid watched with interest.  Barty made the rat roll over and then crawl up his arm.

          “Total control,” he said quietly.  “I could make it do whatever I want, and it has to obey.”

          “Is it hurting the rat?” said Astrid, peering about now at their surroundings.  What if someone witnessed them?  What if he was caught, and she with him?  How could she prove her innocence?  Was she still innocent, if she could witness this and keep quiet about it?  She didn't think the courts would be very lenient on that point.

          “No, the rat is enjoying himself.  He is in a state of rapture.  It's almost a kindness we're doing him, in a way.”

          Astrid thought of Niles Smudgeworth.  Had he been in a state of rapture as he killed her parents?  She supposed he must have been.

          “Care to try?” said Barty.

          Astrid froze.  It wouldn't be _hurting_ the rat, not really, but what he was asking could earn her a lifetime sentence in Azkaban—a concept she found more frightening than death itself.  This was serious business.

          But if she refused?  She was in too deeply now.  She knew too much to back out.  Why had she gotten herself into this?  Her feud with Rita now seemed like a stroll in the park compared with what she now faced, and she had thrown herself into this without thinking it through, not really, and how stupid did that make her?

          “All right,” she heard herself replying, not aware of having chosen to speak, or to take out her wand, which she did now.

          “Hold out your hand,” he said, and placed the rat upon her palm.  She cringed.

          She pointed her wand at the rat in her hand.  “ _Im—Imperio_ ,” she stuttered in a voice barely above a whisper.

          Nothing happened.

          “The thing about the Unforgivables is, you've really got to _mean_ them when you say them,” he said.  “It takes some practice.  It's all right if you don't get it on your first few tries.”

          “I don't think I can,” she said, “not tonight.  I'm tired, and I've still got some work to finish up for the _Prophet_.”

          He stared at her wordlessly for a moment.

          “But let's do this again,” she added quickly, “very soon.  Perhaps...perhaps in a less public place?”

          He seemed to perk up at that.  “Of course,” he said.  “I'll come for you on Saturday.  We'll go somewhere that you can practice in peace.  Though, as I said,” and here he chuckled, “the law will be changing soon.  With the Dark Lord on your side, there won't be anything to fear.”  He restored the rat to its normal state and let it go.

 


	16. Chapter 16

          When Astrid had made sure she was safely alone at home, she spent the next hour furiously scribbling down all of the events that had led up to that evening with Barty.  She locked them away in her Bottomless Bottle and then searched through an old spellbook until she had found a way to convert the bottle into a necklace.  This she placed around her neck after casting an extra charm to make the bottle unbreakable.

          After she was done, she opened a bottle of fishy green ale and just sat in silence with it and her thoughts.

          The next day, she went by the Owlery on her lunch break in search of an address.  Having found what she was looking for, she advised Rita that she was following a new lead and hopped the Knight Bus.  Although it was a wizard she sought, the bus took her to an old two-up two-down in a dirty, undesirable part of muggle London.  As it was still midday, she was not sure whether anyone would be at home, but she could always try again that evening.

          Her heart was in her throat as she knocked.  She could feel the lump of fear there, bracing against what she was about to do.  She waited for an unusual length of time before giving up, but at that moment, the door opened.

          The man who answered had seen better days.  The short tufts of what remained of his hair had turned prematurely white.  Dark circles surrounded his eyes, and although his frame was round, the face that sat above it appeared hollow.

          “Hello,” she said in a timid voice, “I'm Astrid.  I'm here from the _Daily Prophet—_ ”

          A frightened look came over the man.  “No!” he squeaked, moving to push the door closed.  “I don't want to talk to anyone!”

          Astrid moved closer to bar the door.  “Are you Niles Smudgeworth?” she said.

          The man did not appear to be listening.  “I said all I wanted to say years ago!  Please leave me in peace!”

          “Mr. Smudgeworth!” she said, a little more loudly.  “Please.  This isn't just business.  My name is Astrid Featherley.”

          Hearing her name, he froze and gawped at her.  He had turned very pale.  “Feath—Featherley, you say?  As—as in...Harold?”  He was whispering now.  “And...Naiadina?”

          She gave a small nod.

          He stared at her for a long moment.  “Merlin's beard,” he breathed, “you look just like—well.”  He stopped suddenly and peered out at the street, but no one was about.  “I suppose you had better come in.”  He stepped back to allow her room.

          The place was a shambles.  No one had cleaned it in ages, and trash was gathered in every corner—mostly cheap, empty liquor bottles, Astrid noted.  Furniture was sparse.  He didn't seem to have much, at least in this room.  He offered her the only chair and grabbed another for himself from the kitchen.

          There was silence for a moment after.  They just looked at one another, both unsure of where to begin.

          Niles cleared his throat.  “I thought they kept it a secret,” he said quietly.

          “They did,” she said.  “No one knows that I know.”

          “No one?”

          “No one.  I overheard Crouch telling my parents—the Featherleys, that is—that night.  I pretended to be asleep.”

          “Ah,” he said.  There was another silence.  Then, “You must hate me,” he added.

          “I don't even know you,” she said.  “How could I hate you?”

          “You did once, though, you know?  You were very small; I doubt you'd remember.  I was a good friend of your—” but he stopped speaking.  After a long moment he said, “If you don't hate me, then what have you come for?”

          “I'm going to do a piece for the _Prophet_ on the Imperius Curse.”  He looked suddenly alarmed again.  “I won't name you!” she added quickly.  “That would give away my secret, too.  I just want to know what, if anything, you can tell me about...that night.”

          “Don't do this to yourself, Miss Hast—er, Miss Featherley.  I beg you,” he said, and he appeared sincerely concerned for her wellbeing.  “It won't be pleasant...for either of us.”

          “I've been living with this secret all my life,” she replied.  “It's about time I had the full truth.”

          He gave a very long sigh.  “All right,” he said at last, “I suppose I owe it to you, after all.”

          “You owe me nothing,” she said kindly.  “I would appreciate it, is all.”

          “Thank you for that,” he said, choking up.  “That's—that's very kind of you...considering.”

          “Mr. Smudgeworth, I don't blame you for what happened to my birth parents.  I'm sure they wouldn't, either.”

          “It's Niles, please,” he said, tears coming to his eyes.  He reached in his pocket for a handkerchief.  “Oh, it's haunted me these long years!”

          “I'm sorry to hear that,” she said.  “But you can remember everything clearly, then?  In spite of the curse?”

          “The curse itself was like a dream,” he said, “but one that doesn't fade away when you wake up.  I remember every moment.  It made me do it _happily_!”

          Astrid tensed at this remark, but did not reply.  “So you can remember the curse from start to finish?”

          “Yes,” he said.  “It started when a Ministry official approached me in the Hog's Head Pub.  I didn't know he was working for Lord Voldemort, of course; no one did.  He bought me a pint and asked me about my business.  Said they were investigating ways in which Voldemort and his followers could be intercepted in ordinary places.  Wanted to know if I had ever met anyone suspicious.  Then he followed me out and while my back was turned, he flung the curse at me.

          “What I felt was like peace,” he went on.  “At ease, like.  In a daze and happy to oblige with any sort of request.  He apparated with me to the location.  They had set your parents up with a Portkey earlier that day.  He gave me my orders not to leave until the job was done, and then left me there.  I waited hours, but it didn't matter because I felt happy just standing there like I'd been told.”

          “When I saw them finally come 'round,” he said, choking up again, “I felt no different.  Happy.  Blissful.  Not a care in the world.  It was the same,” he added sharply, fighting back tears, “when I did it.  When I—when I did the job.”  He paused for so long here that Astrid was not sure whether he intended to go on, but after another moment, he did.  “It wasn't until after that I finally became aware of myself again.  As the curse wore away, it was as though my vision was clearing.  Like the weight of the world had fallen upon my shoulders, and in that moment...it had.”  He took out his handkerchief again.

          “You were found not guilty in your trial,” Astrid said.

          “That's right.  They made up a cover story that it was two muggles I had murdered, but under the influence of the curse.  Then Mr. Crouch and everyone involved were Obliviated.  Mr. Crouch gave me the option to forget, but I chose to live with what I'd done.  Someone needed to honor their memories, anyhow, and I didn't know what the Featherleys had been told.  I could never bear to face them again.”

          “I'm sure they don't blame you,” Astrid said.  “I don't believe anyone could, under the circumstances.”

          “Thank you kindly, Astrid.  It...it means so much.  Meeting you and sharing all that...it might just bring about the peace I've needed all these years.  I hope that, in some way, it might bring some to you.”

          “Thank you.  Finally learning the details after all this time has been somewhat of a relief.  I appreciate you sharing with me.”  She stood up.  “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Smudgeworth.  Please do try to find some peace within yourself.”  Quite out of character, she leaned forward to give the man a hug.  “I'm sure it's what all my family would want.”  She bade him goodbye at the door and wished him well.

 


	17. Chapter 17

 

         When Astrid got up for work the next day, the events of the previous couple of evenings felt like a dream.  After a few moments, reality sank in.  Before heading out the door, she stopped in the kitchen to pour herself a canister of pumpkin juice.  She eyed the bottle of firewhisky beside the juice.

 _A shot_ , she thought, _wouldn't hurt.  It doesn't affect me that much, and no one is going to be able to tell.  And if it makes this job actually bearable, well...that can only be a plus._

          She poured a single shot into the pumpkin juice, hesitated, and added just a bit more.

          At the _Prophet_ , she passed Bozo on her way to her desk.  He seemed to be waiting for her and wore a grin on his dull face that appeared almost gleeful.

          She peered at him out of the corner of her eye.  “Hello,” she said.

          He snickered.  “You're for it now,” he said.

          “What?”  She stopped in her tracks.  “What are you on about?”

          He laughed again.  “You're going to _get_ it!  Just wait until she sees you're here....”

          Astrid rolled her eyes and continued to her desk, shoving the rat with her incorrectly-spelled name on it to the side.  From somewhere across the room, there was a _bang_ and the sound of a large stack of papers falling to the floor, and she jumped.  She took a swig of her extra-spicy pumpkin juice, then another.  What could Bozo mean?  She hadn't done anything wrong, had she?

          She didn't have long to mull over it.  Rita approached her desk wearing a grin like a niffler in a Gringott's vault.

          “Miss Featherley!  I see you've arrived.”

          “I have,” Astrid said.

          “I need you to come with me for a moment,” she said.  “I have a _slight_ concern.”

          “Concern?”

          “With your performance,” she said.  “This will only take a moment.  We have to stop by Human Resources.”

          “Human Resources?” Astrid said, standing up.

          “We'll discuss it when we get there,” Rita said, striding swiftly towards a far corner of the room, where a squat woman with fake red hair and a sickeningly sweet smile greeted them.

          “Hello,” said the woman, holding out her hand.  “I'm Carolyn.  It's so nice to meet you.”  She spoke to Astrid as though Astrid were a baby.

          Astrid had met this woman over the summer before beginning her internship.  Apparently Carolyn did not remember handling her paperwork.

          “Hello,” Astrid said.

          “Now,” said Carolyn, “please take a seat.  I am told there is an issue, but I feel certain it's something we can nip in the bud right away.  We're going to be signing some paperwork for a first warning.”

          “What?” said Astrid.  “Why? I wasn't told anything.”

          Rita jumped in.  “Miss Featherley has been chasing down stories on her own, without any sort of supervision.  She knows she is to take direction from me, but instead has been following her own leads.”

          “I wasn't informed of that!” Astrid said.  “And anyway, I've been doing good work!”

          Carolyn smiled sympathetically.  “Miss Featherley, we can't send interns out after their own stories without any sort of supervision and have them handing them in willy-nilly.  Not without a bit more tenure.  I'm sure that was made clear to you.”

          “It wasn't!” Astrid said, growing outraged.  “She told me to do it!”

          “I never would have said such a thing,” Rita said.  “You must have misunderstood me.  But it's all right.  We have full confidence it won't happen again.”

          “No, of course not,” Carolyn said.  “We're certain you wish to improve!  Now, we just have a few papers for you to sign to acknowledge that you are aware of the rules, and we can go on as though this never happened.  Please take a quill....”

          Astrid didn't see what choice she really had in the matter, and as it was her word against Rita's, she didn't see the point in arguing.  She gritted her teeth and signed the papers.  Her stories about Barty and about the Imperius Curse would have to land straight on the Editor's desk when the time came.  She would simply go over Rita's head.  She didn't think, once he saw the headlines she had produced, that he could have much to complain about.  Her stories were going to sell papers galore, and unjust write-ups be damned.

          Fuming, she returned to her desk and downed the rest of her pumpkin juice in one breath.  She would go and find Adrian after work; she needed to drink her sorrows and stress away tonight!

 


	18. Chapter 18

          “I just don't know how to do it anymore!” Astrid cried.

          “Oh, come now.  Top grades for seven years at Hogwarts and you mean to tell me you can't handle Skeeter?  I don't believe that for a second.  I know you, Astrid.  You'll pull through somehow.”

          “Possibly,” she muttered beneath her breath.

          “Are you sure there isn't something else going on that's causing you to be so stressed?”

          Astrid dearly wished she could tell Adrian everything that was going on in her life at this point, but there was precious little she could confide in him outside of the whole messy business with Rita.  She had not needed to pour out her troubles to someone this desperately since the early days following the deaths of her birth parents, but as always, she sealed it away, told it to her Bottomless Bottle.  The bottle, now dangling from her neck and clinking against her glass as she leaned into their conversation, had always been one of her closest friends.

          “I suppose it's just...some of these stories are getting to me a bit.  The death, the...the evil.  It's gruesome.”  At least it wasn't a total lie.

          “I completely understand,” Adrian said.  “It should bother any rational-minded person.”

          Astrid agreed.

          “This makes perfect sense now,” Adrian said.  “I thought there had to be something.  I mean, your situation with Skeeter is completely unfair, I grant you.  But to see you so worked up all the time...it just isn't like you.  I thought there must be something more going on.  Well, you can talk to me anytime, you know.  I'm always good for an ear.  Here,” and he held up his glass, “to friendship.”

          Astrid allowed herself a small smile.  “To friendship,” she said, meeting his glass with her own.

          “Cheers,” Adrian said.

          And to her horror, from behind her she heard, “Astrid?”

          She turned slowly and looked up.  Barty was standing there, but he did not meet her eye.  Instead he was staring at Adrian without any hint of a smile.

          “Barty...hi,” she said.

          “I thought you were working all this week,” he said, with an accusatory tone barely perceptible in his voice.

          “I was—I am,” she said nervously.  “I just stopped for a bite to eat.”

          Adrian eyed her for a moment and then spoke up.  “Crouch!” he said.  “Pleasure to see you again!  Why don't you join us?  We'll have a Slug Club reunion!”

          “That's all right,” Barty said, still staring only at Adrian.  “I've some work to do myself this evening.  Must be getting on with it.  Astrid,” and here he finally turned to look at her, “I'll see you on Saturday.”

          “Yes,” she said.  “See you then.”

          He looked at her for a moment longer and then turned back to Adrian.  “All right,” he said, “have a pleasant evening.”

          He walked off without another glance.  There was a silence.

          Adrian cleared his throat.  “I see,” he said.

          “See what?”

          “I wouldn't have guessed that of him.”

          “Guessed what?”  Could he possibly know something?  Would he suspect her involvement?  Could she trust him with the secret of what she was getting up to?

          Adrian looked intently at her.  “I mean this, Astrid.  If he hurts you, you can tell me and I will make sure it doesn't happen again.”

          “Oh!”  Astrid laughed with relief.  “No, it isn't like that.  Barty and I are only friends.  Just, I'd been so tired and stressed with everything, I told him I was too busy to meet until Saturday.  He probably thought I'd lied to him.  I mean, I guess it wasn't completely true.  I can see why he might have seemed upset.”

          Adrian looked doubtfully at her and then sighed.  “All right,” he said, “I apologize.  That was presumptuous and rude of me, and I'm sure you can take care of yourself.  But if you do need me, I want you to know I'm here, all right?”

          Astrid gave Adrian a real smile, wondering now whether he felt something more for her than he had heretofore let on.  Maybe when all this was over with Barty and she had time to think about things like dating...but she had no idea when or how it would end.  With the arrest of Barty and his friends, no doubt.  The fall of Voldemort?  That was a bold notion, but if what she was doing could somehow lead to a resolution to the war, then she had no choice but to continue with her plans, had she?

          She smiled at Adrian.  “All right,” she agreed, and ordered another drink.

 


	19. Chapter 19

         When Saturday arrived, Astrid woke early and headed to the alley for her breakfast.  The young man whose cart she had seen flipped over on her first morning at the _Prophet_ had evidently received his permit and been parked near the entrance to Knockturn Alley ever since.  No doubt he saw a great deal less business than the smug-faced woman who maintained the same prime real estate she always had.  He looked surprised to see Astrid approach.

          “Hello,” Astrid said.

          “Interest you in an 'ot pie?”

          “Yes, please.”  She watched as he wrapped one up in some newspaper.  “'Ere you are,” he said, “that'll be one galleon.”

          Astrid did not move to take out her wallet or reach for the pie.

          “You must see some strange characters passing by here,” she said.

          He eyed her suspiciously.  “Wot d'you mean?” he said.  “Don't see nuffink, do I?  I only work 'ere.”

          She realized that visitors to Knockturn Alley probably made up a good deal of his clientele and that he might be reluctant to give them up.  “You've seen me before, though, haven't you?”

          “I've seen you,” he agreed.

          “With a tall, dark-haired gentleman?”

          He only stared at her, seemingly unwilling to say more.

          She reached for her wallet and counted out the change.  “One galleon,” she said, “and here's an extra for a tip.”

          He took the galleons and spoke cautiously.  “Sure, I've seen you with a gent.”

          “So you know the man I mean?”

          “I know 'im.”

          “Do you ever see him with anyone else?”

          “Wot, you think 'e's doin' you dirty like?”  He chuckled.

          Astrid only stared.

          “I'd need more than that to keep my eyes on someone full-time, sweetheart.”

          Astrid passed him another galleon.  “That's all until I get some information,” she said.

          He pocketed the galleon and said, “I've seen 'im with some strange folks.  They come through this way now and then.  Some of those so-called Death Eaters, I reckon.”

          There was a prickly sensation at the back of her neck.  “What makes you say that?”

          He looked reluctant to reply, but she saw him pat his pocket where his new galleons sat, and then he continued.

          “I pay attention, I do.  People like to assume I'm stupid, but I've overheard things that don't sound too good together.  More than once, fer instance, I've seen names of victims appear in the paper only the day after I 'eard 'em 'ere.  As if they knew beforehand.  As if they'd planned it.”

          “Do you know any of his friends' names?”

          “Carrow, I've 'eard.  Couple of 'em.  And a crazy woman.  Bellatrix.  They talk an awful lot about something called 'Project Kilnbreaker'.  I don't think they're up to no good with that.  Makes that Bellatrix woman downright gleeful to be working on something for _him_.  One guess who 'he' is.”

          Astrid felt a thrill at having stumbled upon such a useful source.  “Kilnbreaker.  Hm.  Any idea what it means?”

          “That's all I know.”

          “Thank you,” she said.  She needed to hurry home to put this down on parchment.  “I'll stop by periodically.”

          “Don't be a stranger, now.  Oy,” he added, as she began to turn away.  He looked candidly at her.  “You be careful, miss,” he said.  “Awful lot of bodies turnin' up.”

 


	20. Chapter 20

          It felt eerily as if she was eating her last meal.  But she felt prepared enough for what she had decided to do.  _After all_ , she thought, _if it was frightening at all it would defeat the purpose._

          Still, after pacing her floor for nearly an hour in anticipation, she jumped when the knock came upon her door at last.  She took a deep breath and tiptoed towards it.  Perhaps if she just ignored him it would all go away.  She could wake up in the morning and it would all have never happened.

          Her _Daily Prophet_ badge on the table by the door said otherwise.  _Remember why you're doing this,_ she thought.  She reached for the door, her mouth feeling parched.  There stood Barty, holding a small cage containing a large, grey rat.  She eyed it uncomfortably.

          “Hello,” she said, sounding, to her ears, a bit timid.

          But he seemed balmier today than the last time she had seen him.  He smiled easily and even raised his eyebrows in a giddy sort of way as he said, “Hello.  Are you ready for this?”

          She smiled back.  “Looking forward to it!”  In some sick way, it was almost true.  She stepped back to allow him entry and pushed some books out of the way on her desk so he could put the rat's cage atop it.

          “All right,” he said, “wand up; I'll show you how this works.”

          “Actually, I had a different idea,” she said.

          “Oh?” he said.  “Are you ready to try _Crucio_?”  He looked positively delighted.  It sickened her.

          She gulped.  “No, it isn't that.  I don't believe I'll be prepared until you've done it on me.  I want to _feel_ what I'm doing to this rat.”

          At first Barty only blinked in surprise; then he stared at Astrid in admiration.  “That,” he said, “is truly inspiring.  The Dark Lord would be absolutely thrilled at your conviction.  I might have to bring you to him sooner than expected!  Well, what would you like me to have you do?”

          “Isn't that up to you?” she said, and giggled to hide her fear.

          “Fair enough,” he said.  “All right, then: _Imperio_!”

          Astrid immediately felt all the weight drop from her shoulders like after a good massage.  It was difficult to accurately describe the sensation.  Something like a mixture of the way she felt after kicking back a few shots of Firewhisky...or like stepping into cool water on a brutally hot day.  She could _swim_ in this feeling.  This was what she had sought her entire life without even knowing it.  She was completely immersed in pure peace and never wanted to emerge again.

          “Astrid, pick up that book over there,” Barty said.  His voice seemed to come from inside her own head as well as from without.  Dutifully, she walked over to her desk and picked up the book he had pointed to.  “Set it on the kitchen table,” he told her.  Astrid did so.  “Walk backwards to me,” Barty commanded.  With ease, Astrid walked backwards to the desk where Barty sat.  “Now imitate the bleating of a sheep.”

          Barty laughed at Astrid's sheep sounds.  She smiled, too, although she couldn't quite understand what was funny.  This was the most natural thing in the world.  But he was still smiling at her a moment later.  She waited patiently, wondering what he might have her do next.

          There was a pause.

          “Astrid...come sit on my lap,” he said.  She walked calmly, happily back to the desk and took a seat.  He was warm, his breaths coming quickly.  He felt so nice, she thought.  Why did he seem distraught when everything was so wonderful?”

          “Kiss me,” he said softly.

          Astrid pressed her lips upon his.  She felt him respond with alacrity.  In what seemed like one motion, he bit down on her lower lip and parted her mouth with his tongue.  His hands were everywhere, and then suddenly he stopped to pick up his wand.

          A sense of dread came to Astrid as he waved the wand at her to remove the spell.  She jumped up from the chair they were sharing and flew backwards.

          “What are you doing!?” she said.

          “You asked me to do what I wanted,” he said.  He looked accusatory, almost angry.  “I've been wanting to do that for a long time now; haven't you?”

          Astrid could feel her heart beating hard against her chest.  He still grasped his wand in one hand and she felt a bit frightened at what he might do with it if he discovered how she had been deceiving him.  She mustn't reveal the panic that was gripping her now.  His affection, if one could call it that, for her was keeping her safe.

          “Of—of course I have,” she said.  “I just—I hadn't realized we both felt the same.  It took me by surprise.”  She saw him begin to relax at her words and felt nauseated at having allowed this creepy arsehole into her flat.

          “Oh,” he said, with a little chuckle that infuriated her, “I can't believe you didn't know it all this time.  I have wanted you for years.”  He was advancing slowly towards her.

          She wanted to feel that feeling again.  That calming, nurturing sensation with which the curse took control of her mind.  But she was in danger.  She felt it more acutely than in all her recent dealings with him.  There was nowhere to run now, though.  She was in her own home.  How could she have been so stupid as to let it come to this?

 _That curse_ , she thought.  _I need to feel that curse._   She could feel a longing for the sensation that seemed to come from within her blood.  Could she deal with the urgent situation before her in order to have just another small taste of it?  Just once more....

          After all, it wasn't as though he would _hurt_ her, she told herself.  Barty _liked_ her.  She thought that perhaps she could deal with some misplaced affection, however much it disgusted her, if only she could experience that blissful feeling one more time.  He was the only one who could give it to her.  She needed him.  This was manageable, she thought.  Completely doable for another taste of Imperius.

          “All right,” she said breathlessly, her stomach in knots, “only could you put that curse on me again?  I _loved_ the way that felt....”

          He looked surprised and then smiled teasingly.  “If that's what you like,” he said, and she felt all the tension wash away and the wonderful, elated sensation come over her again as she stepped back into his embrace.

 


	21. Chapter 21

          Astrid awoke the next morning feeling out of sorts.  The events of the night before seemed hazy at first; she had slept very deeply.  How much had she had to drink, anyway?

          She rolled over and then bolted upright, startled out of her wits to find Barty Crouch, Jr. asleep beside her in the bed.

          Astrid stared, horrified.  Every awful moment—tinged with the seductive effect of the Imperius curse—came back to her at once.  Carefully, she slid out of the sheets.  She had to wash the scent of him off of her.

          In the shower, she scrubbed every inch of herself and then scrubbed again.  She could still smell him, still feel him touching her.  As she worked to rid herself of his essence, something else came back to her.

          It was that _feeling_.  That freeing, effervescent, yet calming feeling that only the Imperius curse could give her.  She needed to feel that again.  The longing for it was invading her mind, much like Barty had done the night before.  She wanted her mind invaded.

          There was a part of her that recognized that she was being foolish.  She couldn't just go around Imperiused all the time.  Barty could make her do anything he wanted her to.  He could make her do Voldemort's work.  _But could he?_ she thought.  If she really wanted to resist—if he tried to make her do something horrible, for example—then couldn't she?  How hard could it be?  And what really were the chances that he would take advantage of her that way?

          Once again she thought of his touch on her lips, on her skin, and shuddered.

 _But the curse makes all that better,_ she thought.  _It doesn't even matter if I don't like doing something, because the curse_ makes _me like it.  I could do anything I wanted, if only there was someone to...influence me._

          The most miserable situations could become tolerable.  She imagined her dealings with Rita.  Normally she turned to Adrian and a few drinks after work, but if Rita couldn't upset her to begin with....

          She gasped and nearly lost her balance as Barty crept up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

          “Didn't mean to startle you,” he said.

          “No, it's just—I thought you were asleep!” she said.

          “I heard the water.”  He looked at her in silence for a moment.  She hurried to finish up so she could throw on a towel.  She wished he would stop looking at her like that.  “Merlin...you're even more beautiful than I ever realized,” he said.

          No, no, _no_...she did not want to hear this!  And just as he started to climb in after her, she jumped out, snatched up her towel, and said, “I'll get some breakfast going!  You can finish up; I'll find you a clean towel.”  She dashed out before he could say another word.

          She saw the rat still sitting in the cage on the table and knew that it wouldn't be too long before she had to attempt the curse for herself.  Grabbing her wand, she set pots and pans about preparing a small meal for herself and Barty.

          Barty stepped out of the shower a moment later smelling of her own soap.  “You didn't have to cook for us like a house-elf; I could have bought us something,” he said.

          “No, it's fine,” she said, tossing him a towel.  “No trouble.”  She didn't comment on the mildly insulting house-elf remark.

          “Are you upset about something?” he said.

          “No, no!” she said, and made herself stop and breathe and smile at him.  “It's just...things happened so quickly last night, I'm a bit worried about what happens next.”

          “Worried?”

          “Well, yes, I mean...how do I know you're not going to run off now and I don't hear from you again?”

          “Why should I go anywhere?”

          “I don't know,” she said.  “I just wasn't sure what to think.”

          He walked over and put his arms around her from behind.  She wished he would put some clothes on.  “You can't get rid of me that easily,” he said, a smile in his voice.  Inwardly, she was cringing.

          “I was thinking...I believe that curse is the most wonderful thing ever invented.”

          “It is pretty brilliant,” he said, grinning at her.

          “I love the way it makes me feel.  Do you think...would it be possible to just...feel it all the time?”

          “What, you want me to curse you?  Permanently?”  He laughed.  “Bit unusual, isn't it?”

          “If you don't mind,” she said, feeling slightly desperate.  What if he wouldn't cooperate, after all?  Yet why shouldn't he?

          “Right now?”  She stared at him, eyes wide and pleading in her eagerness to experience that feeling again.  “Well, all right.  _Accio_ wand,” he said, and it flew from the table beside Astrid's bed and into his hand.  “What do you want me to have you do?”

          “You could just...tell me to have a splendid day or something.  You know, before I go into work in the morning.  My boss is awful.  I'm stressed out all the time.  It would be great to just...not be bothered at all.”

          “I think I've got an idea, actually,” he said.  “ _Imperio_.”

          The relief was immediate.  Astrid had been afraid she would never experience this again.  She was sure she felt the curse trickle down over her, tingling all the way.  She shivered, delighted.  “Astrid, pick up your wand,” he said.  “I would like you to put the Imperius curse on the rat.  Make it do cartwheels.”

          Astrid pointed the wand at the cage.  The terrified rat scampered back away from her.  This was mildly perplexing to Astrid.  Who could be afraid of feeling like this?

          The rat began performing acrobatics.  She heard Barty laughing.  It was pretty funny, she thought, a rat doing cartwheels and flips.  She couldn't help laughing, too.  What a wonderful day this was turning out to be.

          “Okay, Astrid.  Now I'd like you to put the Cruciatus curse on the rat.”

          She was only too happy to oblige.  “ _Crucio_ ,” she said, and the rat stopped flipping and began writhing on the floor of the cage.  She could hear its agonized squeaks as it squirmed around, trying to escape the curse, and she smiled serenely.  Wasn't this feeling divine?

          She sensed Barty watching her, and she gave him a happy smile, which he returned.  “All right,” he said, after the rat had cried for another minute.  “Astrid, please perform the killing curse on the rat.”

          Astrid stopped torturing the rat and, with a wide smile, spoke the fatal words.  “ _Avada Kedavra!”_

          There was a flash of green light, and the rat plopped onto its side and lay still.

          Nothing happened for a moment, and then Barty came over to her side, placing an arm around her waist.  “Tell me, Astrid, did you enjoy that?”

          “Oh, very much,” she said.  How perfectly lovely to be told what to do, what to want, and what to enjoy.

          He smiled down at her.  “Astrid,” he said, “have a splendid day.”  And he began to kiss her.

 


	22. Chapter 22

          She couldn't do it to herself again.  She mustn't.  After what he had made her do to that rat....   After what he had done to her!   She shuddered as she dressed for work in the morning.  She tried to erase the feeling, and the memory of the rat, from her mind.

          ...But she couldn't do it.  She ached for that feeling.  It was quickly becoming all that mattered to her.  Once more...just once.  Enough to get through today, at least.  After all, now she needed it more than ever.

          “Will you be over tonight?” she asked Barty, who had grabbed breakfast for both of them from down the street.

          “Sure,” he said.  “Late.  I've got some work to do first.”

          “Okay.  Could you...?  I just want to feel it again.”

          “What...the curse?  You're really into that, aren't you?”  He frowned on her.  “Y'know, it's not good for you to be under the influence all the time like that.  Constant vigilance is critical, especially these days.”

          “Just...please,” she said, not even asking now.

          He sighed.  “All right.  _Imperio._   Have a good day at work, Astrid.”

          Astrid walked to the _Prophet_ a few minutes later.  This was going to be the best day of work she had ever had.

          She passed Adrian on the way in, who said hello.  Astrid smiled back and did not reply.  She walked straight to her desk, ignoring Rita, as well, looked at the rat-shaped nameplate bearing her misspelled name for a good long moment, and giggled.

          That day she followed Rita around in a daze and discovered that work was much easier when it was impossible to worry about.  Sure, she didn't really know what she was doing and wasn't learning anything, but each and every time she was reprimanded, it slid right off her back.  She saw Adrian again later that day and he looked strangely at her and waved, but did not speak.  She was unsure what the weird look was for; she was having a perfectly lovely day herself.

          When the end of the work day rolled around, the curse wore off.  Instantly, Astrid began to worry.  She couldn't remember doing anything useful all day—not that she normally did, but she wasn't learning anything, either.  She had to admit that not having her wits about her bore a certain risk.  Cringing, she realized Adrian had noticed something off about her.  She had to regain control of herself.

          The following day, she opted, with reluctance, not to be cursed.  She went into work restless and fidgeting.  Feeling it again was all she could think about.  Without the curse, she was a nervous wreck.

          When Rita came around to scold her over important details she had neglected to write down the day before, she reacted by screaming at Rita, causing a small crowd to gather, Rita's eyebrows to lift way up to her bleached blonde scalp, and Astrid to get another write-up, which further soured her mood.

          Adrian passed by and asked her if everything was all right, and she snapped at him, too.  Everything was just fine, she said.  She was happy.  Adrian looked rather offended and bade her good night.

          Good, bad, up, down, cursed, vigilant...everything was a blur these days.  She couldn't seem to focus one way or the other, so as far as she was concerned, she may as well feel happy about it, right?

 


	23. Chapter 23

          Astrid had all but forgotten about her mission of spying on Barty and figuring out what his friends were up to when her moment came, more quickly than she expected.

          “I'd like to introduce you to some people today,” he said.

          She nearly spat out her Butterbeer.  “The Dark Lord?”

          “I think it's time, don't you?  You've proven you can keep up with me.  I'd like to see what he thinks of you.”

          “That sounds...amazing!” she said, feigning enthusiasm that she didn't feel one iota of.  “Only...I'm not sure I can meet someone so important, so...influential...without the curse.  I would be so nervous!”

          “Absolutely not.  That would be disrespectful!”

          “But, Barty....”  She smiled, batting her eyelashes.

          “He'd only have me lift it.  No,” he said, and that seemed to be final.

          So it was that an agitated Astrid found herself being co-apparated to an enormous, ominous-looking mansion deep in the country to meet the lord of evil.

          As Barty lifted the heavy iron door knocker, the sound reverberated through unseen hallways.  They stood in silence for a tantalizing minute, Astrid's heart beating in her throat, before a house-elf wearing a potato sack and a mournful expression opened the door for them.

          “Right this way, please!” said the house-elf in a squeaky voice.  “Dobby lives to serve!”

          Astrid assumed that this manor must belong to a Slytherin family.  Perhaps it was only a stereotype, but Slytherins always seemed to delight in off-putting décor.  Things like darkness, skeletons, spiders, and dead roses apparently appealed to them.  Astrid thought they enjoyed warding off anyone with a friendly face.  Then again, the Featherleys themselves were Slytherins, but they had never been ostentatious.  This place, too, although domineering, appeared sterile and stark as a tomb.  It reminded her of Barty's own family home.

          Dobby the house-elf led them to a polished black wooden door and knocked.

          “Enter,” came a high voice from within.

          Astrid could barely contain her shaking.  She was about to meet the man responsible for her parents' deaths...the reason for the terrifying world that everyone had lived in for so many years now.  Oh, _Merlin_.

          Dobby opened the door, and she felt Barty's hand on her lower back, prodding her into the room.  Inside was a long dining table, about which a few people sat.  One black-haired person was at the head of the table, his back to her.  Astrid knew instinctively that this person was Voldemort.  Almost as if he had heard her thoughts, this man turned to her and she barely repressed a gasp.

          The face had perhaps once been handsome, but now was something almost less than human.  Jagged scars sat across it as though the entire face had been ripped apart and sewn back together again, and—Astrid noted with horror—the entire nose was missing, in its place only two tiny slits for nostrils.  Just like a snake.

          The face smiled at her.  “Ah, you must be Miss Featherley!” said Voldemort.  “Young Bartemius has told us so much about you!  Come...be seated.  You are with friends here.”

          The four other faces around the table did not look at all inviting to Astrid.  A young couple with silvery-blonde hair glowered as Voldemort said, “These are the Malfoys.  You are in their home, which they kindly permit me to use as my headquarters.  And these,” he gestured to the other side of the table, “are their relatives, the LeStranges.”

          “We are of course charmed to make your acquaintance,” said Mr. Malfoy with a sneer.

          Mrs. LeStrange suddenly burst out, “I don't like this, My Lord.  Bringing newcomers into the fold.  _Now_?  Wouldn't it be better to wait until after?”

          “Do you question my judgment, Bellatrix?”

          The very rude woman lowered her head.  “No, My Lord.  Of course not.  Forgive me.”

          “Bartemius speaks highly of you,” said Voldemort.  “But come...I would like to hear, in your own words, why you were so interested in meeting me.”

          At first, no words would come.  But Astrid thought that it would be wise to be as laconic as possible.

          “M-my...Lord,” she said, following Bellatrix's lead with her address, “I believe that magic belongs in the hands of true witches and wizards...and—and not to those of filthy blood.  We have shared what is ours for too long.”

          “She cowers at your feet!” Bellatrix cried out—ironically, Astrid thought, as everyone in this room seemed to be absolutely terrified of him.  All except Barty, she noted with interest, who only stared with rapt attention.  “She does not have what it takes to do _your_ work!”

          “Silence, please, Bellatrix.”  Bellatrix quickly dropped her head.

          Voldemort stared into Astrid's eyes for an uncomfortably long moment.  She had the distinct impression that he was staring into her very soul.  Legilimency was extremely rare, but if he had that gift...she was likely to die today, inside this room.  Hadn't she always known it would come to this?

         Astrid broke her gaze and looked down, and finally Voldemort spoke again.  “Bartemius tells me you have quite the affinity for the Imperius curse,” he said with interest, “but that you prefer to be under it rather than over it.”  He chuckled—the creepiest sound Astrid supposed she had ever heard.

          “It helps me to focus,” she said, unimpressively.

          At this, all four of her “new friends” guffawed.  Her face felt hot.

          “Tell me,” said Voldemort, “if you need to be under the influence of a curse just to go to work in the morning, how could you possibly be of use to me?”

          “It makes me feel...powerful,” she said, a sudden inspiration coming to her.  “With the curse, I can accomplish anything.  I am unstoppable.”  She desperately hoped these words would appeal to a roomful of Slytherins, and as she glanced around the table, she saw Mrs. Malfoy lift her eyebrows as though, Astrid dared to think, impressed.

          “Indeed,” said Voldemort.  “I believe this will require some thought.  For now, you are free to go.”

          She saw Barty nod at her barely perceptibly.

          “Th—thank you, My Lord,” she said.

          “That is all,” he replied.

          She stood.  No one, including Barty, joined her.  She maintained her composure while heading for the door, where Dobby the house-elf greeted her and led her outside.  At once she apparated home and, as she was shaking all over, bundled herself up and went to bed.

          When Barty arrived much later, she asked him what he had thought, and what they had discussed after she had gone.

          “I think he's interested in you,” he said, “but that he may agree with Bellatrix about bringing someone new into the group just now.  And you should know straightaway that every discussion with the Dark Lord is completely confidential.”

          He did not speak again.  That, for him, settled the matter of what had been discussed in Astrid's absence.

          Astrid was only too relieved that the Dark Lord did not want to see her for a while.  She was quite positive that she never wanted to see him again.

 


	24. Chapter 24

          She headed towards the food cart at the entrance to Knockturn Alley one day at lunch.  It had been weeks since she had stopped by to talk to her source, though it was hardly necessary anymore.  Her mission—her entire reason for being in her present predicament at all—had been long since laid aside.

          The vendor had not forgotten her, however.  “Oy, Miss,” he said in a low tone as she fished for her money, “what's goin on wiv you?  You on a potion or summat?  You don't seem right.”  He leaned in close.  “I've seen summat like this before, I 'ave.  Me Uncle Jasper what tried the Draught of Peace to not feel so worried all the time.  'E started usin' it day in and day out, wastin' all 'is money on it.  Turned 'im into a right Inferius, it did.  'E stopped feelin' worried an' everyfink else, too.  You need some 'elp?”

          “I'm just fine, thanks,” Astrid said with a smile.

          “You 'aven't been by in a while,” the man said, almost accusatory.  “I bin tryin' to uphold my end of the bargain, though I don't see what use it is seein' as you're always wiv 'im.  Seems to me, Miss, if you're a party to their actions then you're just as guilty...but maybe I'm seein' it wrong.  I dunno...you killed anybody lately?”

          “No,” Astrid said simply.

          “Be that as it may, I 'ope you're not encouragin' nuffink of the sort.  You seem like a nice person.  Speakin' of killin', I found out summat about that Kilnbreaker plot.  Your folks is plannin' to do in someone important, and it sounds like they've finally found 'ooever it was they was lookin' to kill.  It ain't up to me to be tellin' you what to do, Miss, but I'd get out of there right quick, I was you.”

          “That's nice,” Astrid said, and began the walk back to work.

 


	25. Chapter 25

 

         As soon as the workday was over and Astrid's curse had worn off, she sought out Adrian at his desk.  He was packing up and glanced at her briefly without interest.

          “Haven't seen you around here for a while,” he said.

          “Adrian, I'm sorry,” she said sincerely.  “I've gotten myself into something I don't know how to get out of, and I need a friend.  I'm just afraid of putting you in danger.”

          “Danger?”  He stopped what he was doing and looked up sharply at her.  “Blimey, something's got you quite shaken, hasn't it?”  He peered around the building for a moment as though checking for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice before speaking again.  “All right,” he said, “come with me.  I know a place we can go.”

          Adrian held out his hand, which Astrid took, and together they disapparated.

          They arrived seconds later in a noisy muggle pub.  “I've been here a few times.  Good curry,” he said by way of explanation.  “No one should find us here.”

          Once seated, he looked up at her expectantly.  “Well?”

          Astrid took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and then to both their surprise, burst into tears.

          “All right, all right,” he said gently, pulling some napkins from a basket and handing them to her.  “Tell me one thing:  Is this about Barty?”

          She nodded miserably.

          “That explains a lot,” he said.  “You've been acting strangely ever since you started seeing him.  I knew he was an abuser.”

          “No,” she said hurriedly.  “Well, I mean, yes, but it's more than that.”  She took a quick look around.  “He's a Death Eater, and he knows that I know.  I can't escape from him.”

          Adrian let his breath out in a whistle.  “Merlin's bloody beard.  No wonder you've been so out of sorts.”  Astrid let that comment hang there, ashamed to tell Adrian about her addiction.  She wasn't sure yet how she would live without it, but now she thought she might begin with a trip to an apothecary to pick up some Draught of Peace.  “Well, you have to go to the authorities!” Adrian said.   “Imagine the look on his father's face when he finds out. Blimey...d'you think his own father would put him in Azkaban?  I just reckon he might.  There's no one who's harder on Death Eaters, so the papers say.”

          “Adrian, listen,” she said.  “I need to disappear, and I think I have an idea.”

          “You've certainly got my attention.”

          “I can't go home, but I know exactly who to go to.  I can't tell you or my parents; it would put you all at risk.  But I can guarantee not even Barty could find me where I'm going.”

          “All right, but what about your job?”

          “I hate my job, Adrian.  I'm done with Rita, with chasing stories, with all of this.”  She didn't say so, but she thought living as a muggle for a while would suit her just fine.  Things seemed so much simpler in the muggle world.  “I'll leave tonight.  On Monday I'll send an owl to tell them I'm ill so no one looks for me for a while.”  She swallowed.  “He has to be reported—they all do—but I want to wait.  If they know I did it, and they aren't caught, they might come after me.  They might go to my parents.”

          Astrid was aware that she was being cowardly.  From her one-sided conversation with the vendor that afternoon, she knew that someone important was in mortal danger.  A member of government, perhaps?  Could it even be Barty's father?  There was no telling.

          But she had never claimed to be brave.  Her own stupid actions might very well have placed her parents in danger.  It was too late to take them back.  If she ran now, then maybe she and hers would be safe.  Any more than that was outside of her immediate control.

 _Kilnbreaker_ , she thought.  _They want to break a kiln.  Something that makes pottery.  Could Barty be the pot, and his father the kiln?_

          But even as she worked to try to solve the puzzle, that yearning to feel the curse again came back to her.  So she stopped.  Enough was enough.  This was no longer her problem.

          “What are you thinking?” Adrian said.  “You've been quiet for a long time.”

          “I can't really tell you anything else,” she said.  “I have to go.  Thank you for being a good friend, Adrian.  I hope to see you again someday.”  She stood up.

          “Astrid, wait—”

          But she was already dashing for the door.  She ran around the side of the building into a little alley, checked for onlookers, and disapparated.

 


	26. Chapter 26

          Barty was not due to arrive for another hour.  She just had time to pack a small bag and leave for the home of Niles Smudgeworth.  Throwing her badge and her handbag on the table by the door, she rushed to locate a duffel in her closet.  She was filling it with toiletries and a couple changes of clothes when a voice came from behind her.

          “ _Imperio_ ,” said the voice.

          She stopped what she was doing, that familiar, happy feeling fully restored, and turned around.  Barty was standing behind her, holding a piece of shimmery fabric and scowling.

          “Invisibility cloak,” he said.  “It belongs to my father.   Sort of ridiculous, really, how much he trusts me, to just leave it where I could find it. He's always been foolish, though, wasting all his life serving the wrong people.”

          Astrid giggled.

          There was a cool smile on Barty's face as he replied, “Oh, yes, it's funny, isn't it?  Do you know what else is funny?  I've discovered something rather interesting.”

          Astrid smiled blandly and said nothing.

          Barty reached into his pocket and retrieved the Bottomless Bottle.  Astrid glanced calmly at it and looked back at Barty, who licked his lips casually.

          “You've been wearing this around your neck for ages, but this is no ordinary pendant, is it, Astrid?”

          “No,” she replied, “it isn't.”

          Barty pointed his wand at the object and said, “ _Engorgio_.”

          Astrid watched, a serene smile upon her face, as an icy blue light encircled the bottle and it returned to its normal size.

          Barty smiled back, coldly.  “That's so clever, Astrid.  You always were a bright one.  I'm really not sure what happened to you.  Tell me, Astrid; what is the password?”

          “Hastings,” Astrid said.

          “Now, that's interesting,” he said.  The bottle ejected yards and yards of parchment, which Barty caught and began scanning at once.  “Unusual magic for a child's toy.  A bottle that's larger on the inside than the out.  Impressive use of that charm, really.  Oh, what's this?” he said.  “My name?  ...No, this is about my father, isn't it?”  He began to read aloud.  “'The night Mr. Crouch came with the news'...it's really all true.  The Dark Lord was right about you—not that I would have expected otherwise.  You've kept this secret your entire life?  Incredible.  Even your parents never knew—but then, the Featherleys aren't really your parents, are they?  No, you're an impostor.  A dirty half-blood.  And you actually let me lie in your bed.  That's disgusting!  And it's dishonest.  What should we do about this?”  He continued reading.  “You were planning to go to the authorities about me—my own father!  Not only me, but my friends, too.  That isn't very nice of you.”  He was licking his lips again.  _He really oughtn't do that,_ Astrid thought.  _They'll get so chapped._ She was about to offer some balm, but he continued.

          “You never did figure it out about the Kilnbreaker Project, though, did you?  No....”  He trailed off as he finished reading the page.  “All this deceit and sneaking around, and you never discovered anything truly useful.”  He smiled.  “It's all right, Astrid.  I'm going to tell you about the conspiracy.  Oh, yes.  I think you'll find it...painfully interesting.”

          He handed the parchment to Astrid.  “Destroy this, Astrid.”

          Astrid took the stack of parchment containing all of her dreams, secrets, and confessions throughout the years, and placed it on the desktop.  She pointed her wand at it and said, “ _Incendio_.”  There was a puff of smoke and a roaring sound and the parchment became a pile of ashes before their eyes.

          “Very good,” he said.  “You won't be needing the wand anymore now.  You can put it down.”

          Astrid placed the wand beside the ashes.

          Barty walked over to her.  “Good,” he said.  “Come with me.”

          She felt a sharp jerking sensation in her core and the room disappeared.

 


	27. Chapter 27

 

         Astrid knew as soon as they finished apparating that the Imperius Curse had been removed.  She was terrified.  They were back inside Malfoy Manor, only now it was filled with witches and wizards wearing ominous black cloaks and skeletal masks to hide their faces.  And...him.  Lord Voldemort was walking towards her, an amused smile on his face.

          “Our guest has arrived right on schedule, everyone,” he said to his gathered followers, who had closed in around her.  To Astrid, he said, “You thought you could lie to _me_?  You thought that _I_ would not see through you?  Lord Voldemort sees everything.  I see what is in your mind.”

          Astrid frantically searched for an escape but knew it was futile.  She was wandless, surrounded by the most evil men and women on the planet.  She was going to die here in this room.

          Voldemort continued, “You are frightened.  You believe you are going to die.  You believe that we are evil.”  He laughed impressively for his friends, who all began to laugh behind their masks.  “How quick we are to label those with whom we simply disagree.  You are here because you have betrayed your friends.  You have betrayed Mr. Crouch.”  Barty stood nearest to Voldemort, glaring at her.  “You have betrayed _me_ , when instead you could have had my love and protection.  That was foolish of you.”

          He could see what was in her mind.  She must not think of her parents.  She _must_ not....

          “Yes,” he said.  “I can see your thoughts.  You mustn't fear for the Featherleys.  They are both pure of blood.  They can yet be made to come to the light.  You see...Lord Voldemort forgives.  You will not die tonight.  We are going to send the Featherleys a message with you, and they will see for themselves the consequences of turning away from Lord Voldemort.”

          It was unusual for Astrid to cry, yet for the second time that night she felt the tears rising up out of her and stinging her cheeks.  She couldn't understand what was going to happen, but it frightened her.  _What_ , she thought, _could be worse than death?_ She tried to speak, choked up though she was.  “Barty,” she croaked out, and tried to catch his eye, but he glared through her as though she was invisible.

          Lord Voldemort grinned.  “You think he will save you?  You think he would stop what is about to happen, even if he could?  No, child; I believe he wants this more than any of us.”

          The tears were flowing freely now, but she managed to say, between sobs, “He said...he said that he would tell me...about the Kilnbreaker.”

          There were gasps around the room.

          “Yes,” Voldemort said, “the half-blood is smarter than we give her credit for.  Very well, Miss Featherley—or shall we call you Miss Hastings?  Yes, Miss Hastings.  The aptly-named 'Kilnbreaker Project' refers to the search for a half-blood child such as yourself who means to do me harm.  But there is no more cause for alarm.  Although they have been hiding from me, he and his family have been found at last.  The son of James and Lily Potter will die tomorrow.”

          James and Lily—Astrid knew them from school.  Lily had been in the Slug Club with her and Barty, and graduated a few years before Astrid.  She was kind and caring.  It infuriated Astrid to think of someone wanting to harm her family.  If only she could warn Lily in some way.

          “No,” Voldemort said, “I am afraid you will never be able to carry this information out of this room.  Wands at the ready, everyone.”

          Astrid braced herself and made herself look Barty in the eye.

          But her tears did not move him, and she gritted her teeth as she heard a chorus of “ _Crucio!_ ” from around the room.

          Astrid had read accounts of people being struck by lightning.  What she felt now was very similar to how she had imagined a lightning bolt must feel.  It was as though there were sharp knives inside every bit of her, stabbing against her flesh, her internal organs, over and over, harder and harder.  Her _blood_ hurt her.  It burned and seared her.  Her muscles, as she writhed on the ground, felt tense and bruised.  She screamed out loud, but it only kept going.  It was in her head, the pain coursing through her, blinding her to her surroundings.  She lost all concept of sense other than the pain.

          Finally she lost consciousness.

 


	28. Chapter 28

__

_Christmas Day, 1995._

          Astrid was sitting upon her bed, trying without success to conjure up a fresh, warm blanket with the straw from her morning pumpkin juice.  An aged Harold and Naiadina Featherley sat near the bed, Naiadina reading aloud from a book.

          “'But where in the world is that poky little puppy?'”, Naiadina read.

          Astrid was not really listening to the story.  She was cold and did not know how to make herself warm again.  It was the Healers who usually brought things like warmth and food and drink.

          Just then, she heard the sound of a door opening and a Healer speaking in a low voice.  “This is our long-term resident ward,” said the Healer.  “For permanent spell damage, you know.”

          With interest, Astrid jumped down from her bed, surprising the Featherleys, who glanced uncomfortably at one another, and peeked around the curtain separating her area from the other residents of St. Mungo's Janus Thickey ward.  Naiadina spoke from behind her.  “Astrid?  Did you not want to hear about the puppy today?  We could read something else....”  But Astrid had spotted something far more interesting than a puppy.

          Standing just feet from her curtain were a Healer, her friend Gilderoy, and a group of visitors, one of whom looked awfully familiar to Astrid.  Yes, she was quite certain that she knew the young man with the unruly dark hair and the glasses.  They had been schoolmates.  She wanted to say hello.

          As familiarity dawned, however, Astrid remembered something else.  She was trying to protect this young man and his family.  They were in danger; an awful conspiracy to destroy them was afoot by some truly frightening people Astrid had once met.  The Kilnbreaker plot, she realized with alarm.  She must alert someone.  Quickly!

          “Kiln,” Astrid said.  But the emotion never seemed to come out in her voice these days.  Expressing herself was an arduous task.  She said it again for good measure.  “Kiln.”

          With an alarmed expression, Harold joined her at the curtain.

          Astrid looked up at Harold.  “Kiln,” she said again.

          Harold and now Naiadina, as well, looked at where Astrid was pointing.

          “Oh!” Harold said with a chuckle.  “No, Astrid.  Those children are harmless.  I really don't think we need to worry about them killing anyone.  Come, let's return to the story.”  Gently, they tried to guide Astrid back to the bed, but she remained standing.

          The young man with the glasses suddenly turned to look about the room and caught Astrid's eye as she peeked out from her curtain.  She realized with a jolt that he was not at all the person she had thought.  They looked similar, of course, very similar, but the eyes were utterly different.  She now knew that she had never seen this person before in her life.  _He_ was in no danger at all.

          Her interest in these visitors having completely dissipated, Astrid turned to climb back into her bed and just caught the mournful expressions that Mr. and Mrs. Featherley had cast at one another.  Astrid shook her head and smiled.  There was no need to worry about any of those children.

          “Poke,” she said.

          A look of uncertainty on her face, Naiadina resumed reading as Astrid returned to her straw, without a care in the world.

 


End file.
